


Dread Moon

by FandomN00b, Figgy_puddin



Series: Dread Moon [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: CW: violence and death and blood, F/M, M/M, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, TW: Dorian's mum is kinda racist and homophobic because she sucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-05-02 09:37:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 65,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19196272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FandomN00b/pseuds/FandomN00b, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Figgy_puddin/pseuds/Figgy_puddin
Summary: A year after defeating Corypheus, many members of the Inquisition are scattered around Thedas doing their own thing. Unfortunately, Dorian goes missing, and everyone must team up, with the help of Hawke and her infamous friends, to find him.(We are playing fast and loose with Post-DAI timing here: e.g. Solas has yet to reveal himself, but Evelyn and Cullen are married.)There is a slightly edited, M-rated version of this that we are in the process of uploading toFanFiction.netfor those who are interested (we basically just edited a few of the smuttier scenes and made them about kissing, and then toned down the fight scenes a little).





	1. The Calm Before

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fan fic so sorry if it kinda sucks! <\-- Figgy
> 
> ^pfffffft... (FandomN00b)

Evelyn woke up early. The sun had barely begun to light up the room she shared with her husband Cullen and their dog, who they both lovingly referred to as “Pup,” which felt silly since there wasn’t a hint of pup left in the beast.

Cassandra was up early again training the new Seekers, ready to battle whatever trouble might still face them when the time came, though Evelyn didn’t think it was necessary to have them clanking swords and yelling commands at such an ungodly hour, especially after the number of drinks they all had during a particularly raunchy game of Wicked Grace as they welcomed Varric and Hawke back to Skyhold.

Cullen stirred and opened his eyes as Evelyn got up and began dressing.

“What in Andraste’s name is going on out there?” he complained, rubbing his temples. “Does the woman ever take a break?”

“She wouldn’t even if I commanded it. I think she secretly likes to rub it in that she can still function after a night at the bar,” Evelyn laughed, buttoning up her blouse.

“I think it’s because she was humiliated in Wicked Grace. You know she hates it when Varric bests her, and now that Dorian is gone, she almost always loses.” Cullen smirked, still lying in bed, with his arm lazily hanging off the side, scratching Pup behind the ears.

Evelyn sighed. She missed Dorian deeply. Though she loved all of her advisors, Dorian just held a special place in her heart. They had a deep bond through friendship (and maybe a little crushing on Evelyn’s part) that not even Cullen could compete with. Evelyn had started hearing less and less from Dorian as he had finally begun to embrace his position back home in Tevinter. In their last conversation, several weeks ago, Dorian had mentioned meeting somebody new. The name escaped Evelyn, even though it was making waves through Ventus, which Dorian rather enjoyed, much to his mother’s dismay. He promised he’d be in contact more often, but, yet again, Evelyn was left waiting.

Cullen and Evelyn made their way down to the dining hall, with Pup in tow. The dining hall was much warmer than the rest of the castle, with its many fireplaces and body heat from all the visitors, and it was comforting on a cold morning. Evelyn sat at the head of the table, and Cullen sat to her right. Evelyn loved to stare out to the yard, seeing the hustle and bustle of the early morning workers, restocking food and drinks, watering the plants and cleaning up discarded items from the soldiers, who had a habit of just dropping their gear wherever was convenient, like children. Evelyn noted that she’d need to talk to Cassandra about that again, as it shouldn’t be up to the caretaking staff to chase down the soldiers and return their belongings.

Josephine strolled out of her office, and took a place to the left of Evelyn. Pup lazily stood up and walked over to her, resting his slobbery chin on her silk dress.

“Inquisitor, it’s most improper to have a dog at the table,” she said nervously, staring down at Pup.

“Josephine, Pup is part of the family and it’s time you embrace him,” Cullen said, staring daggers at her. “Here boy,” he called, keeping his eye on Josephine, smirking as she hastily wiped the drool off herself with a tissue.

Slowly, the rest of the crew made their way to breakfast: Iron Bull, looking like he hadn’t slept yet, Varric, still with lipstick smudges leading down his neck from Wicked Grace dares, Hawke, looking less than happy about being awake at all, and Vivienne, who had arrived midway through the shenanigans, looking as graceful as ever. The banter was flowing, Varric and Hawke were arguing about old times, while Cassandra ignored everyone, as Varric had given her an unpublished copy of the latest installment of _Hard in Hightown_.

A stomping noise came from the garden which made Pup turn his head in curiosity. Evelyn looked up from her meal and called Cassandra’s name.

“Cassandra, aren’t you going to let those poor recruits take a break? They’ve been going since the crack of dawn!”

“Those aren’t mine, Inquisitor. Cullen, do you have anyone training up today?” Cassandra said, looking confused.

“No, I don’t,” he said, getting out of his chair and reaching for his sword.

Tension filled the room. It had been so long since anyone or anything had really posed a threat to the Inquisition that most had let their guard down, including Evelyn, as much as she would hate to admit it. She reached for her staff and began heading for the door, the others following quickly behind her.

“I hear horses, maybe 10, and I’m guessing 20 to 30 soldiers. We have enough people to easily take them on if my guess is right,” Cullen muttered next to her. “But who would be coming to attack us?” he wondered out loud.

The marching outside came to a halt. Everyone waited in anticipation for the first sign of a fight.

“GIVE ME MY SON,” a woman called from behind the gate. Evelyn and Cullen looked at each other, completely confused.

“DO YOU HEAR ME, INQUISITOR? HAND OVER MY SON NOW!” the woman screamed again.

“Lower the gates!” Evelyn shouted, waiting in anticipation to see who this mad woman was. As far as Evelyn knew, she’d not kidnapped anyone’s son.

The open gates revealed an old but stunning woman. Her lips were pursed and there was fury in her eyes. Something looked familiar about her, but Evelyn couldn’t quite place it. The woman stomped towards her, with her small army behind her. Though she wasn’t tall, she had a large presence, enough so that Cullen didn’t take his hand off his sword and Pup let out a low growl.

The woman stopped and sucked in a breath, ready to shout again, when Evelyn took a step forward.

“We are holding nobody’s son hostage, and I’d appreciate you not yelling in my courtyard,” Evelyn stated sternly.

“My son ran off and played with your crew, shirking his duties in Tevinter, and now we finally had him back, he’s run off back here again. He cannot do this, he has responsibilities!” she shrieked.

“Are…are you talking about Dorian?!” Evelyn said, stepping even closer, realizing exactly who the woman looked like.

“Of course I am! He left with his… _friend_ a few weeks ago, and has not been in contact since! I could only presume he was off playing a hero in Skyhold again.”

“Lady Thalrassian, I haven’t heard from Dorian, and I had no idea he was coming to visit,” Evelyn said, eyes wide with sudden concern for her friend.

...

Lady Thalrassian eyed Cullen, as he prepared tea for her and Evelyn. “Dorian loves you, why did you pick THAT brute over him?” She pointed at Cullen, as he attempted to ignore the woman’s rudeness.

“Lady Thalrassian...Aquinea, if I may, Dorian and I love each other deeply, but we’re not in love _with_ each other and it breaks his heart every time you refuse to accept him for who he is,” Evelyn said curtly.

Cullen cleared his throat to get their attention and handed them both their teas. Cullen leaned in and whispered that he was just outside the door if she needed him, and walked out of the room. Leaving the two women to stew in the tension of ill feelings they had for each other.

“He was doing well, being an ambassador and a new Magister kept him busy. He seemed to enjoy it, ruffling the feathers of all the old conservative families in the Imperium, then he went public with his current…” Aquinea paused.

“Boyfriend,” Evelyn interjected.

“Yes. He was a guard for Dorian. He was infatuated with him, much like your guard is with you...”

“Well I’d hope so, seeing as I married him!” Evelyn laughed. “What was his name? I don’t recall it.”

“His name is Alarion. An elf. Oh, his choices, Evelyn!” she said, putting her hands to her face.

“Hmm. The name doesn’t sound familiar, but perhaps we can look further into it. Whatever's going on, we need to find Dorian. Please make yourself at home and if you think of anything else, please come to me right away,” Evelyn said, standing up.

“Thank you. Evelyn, despite it all, he’s my son and I care deeply for him.”

“You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t,” Evelyn forced herself to smile, and then left Aquinea by herself.

...

By the late afternoon, Hawke, Varric, Vivienne, Bull and Cullen were all prepared to set out with Evelyn to search for Dorian first thing in the morning. Josephine was contacting Leliana to find anything she could from her network of contacts.

They stood around the war table, discussing which route Dorian would have taken to get to Skyhold.

“There’s no way Sparkler would have gone to Kirkwall. Not huge fans of Tevinter, and our people would've noticed a strange mage. Everyone's still a little on edge after…after what happened,” Varric said, eyeing Hawke, whose face had hardened a little, thinking about Anders.

“So he had to go through Orlais then,” Cullen said, leaning into the map.

“Well, not necessarily, he could have gone down through Nevarra and sailed towards us,” Josephine suggested.

Bull and Evelyn both began laughing. “Dorian…on a BOAT!” Bull howled. Josephine rolled her eyes and jotted something down on her tablet.

“He would have gone through Orlais to show Alarion I’m guessing, catch up with old friends before meeting up with us here,” Evelyn said, staring at the map. “I say we head out tomorrow and start working our way to Orlais. Hopefully, we get some news before then.”

Evelyn stared at the war table a little longer, lost in the thought that something could have happened to her dear friend and she never even realized he was in danger.


	2. The Noble Ambassador

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashing back a few months to a big party, an assassination attempt, and a new movement in the Imperium.

After the death of his father, Dorian had felt that it was time to return home and give his old life a second chance. With the Inquisition's reduced forces, and Evelyn marrying Cullen, Dorian had started to feel like he needed a new purpose and as much as he loved Bull, he just didn’t see himself running up and down the coast with the Bull’s Chargers. Their parting was hard. Dorian had attempted to explain that Tevinter (especially Minrathous!) could use the Chargers to help keep the streets clean, but Bull refused, stating that it would be unfair to pull more people away from the already diminishing Inquisition, and to do _that_ kind of work. Dorian felt foolish assuming Bull would choose to go with him and when Bull didn’t show up to his farewell party, Dorian decided that he wasn’t going to chase ghosts and didn’t even bother saying goodbye before he left.

...

Dorian stood on a balcony, looking down at the crowd beneath him mingling in the ballroom. He eyed four women huddled in a corner of the ballroom. One of them was his mother, possibly discussing his marital status, as he’d caught two of the women taking a peek at him then giggling, while the third woman seemed to be entirely uninterested, eyeing a noblewoman from Kirkwall across the ballroom. The Archon had decided to host a ‘goodwill’ gathering in Minrathous of noble families from all across Thedas, _officially_ decrying the Venatori and their involvement with Corypheus’ attempts to destroy the world. Dorian was serving as both the oldest male representative of House Pavus, and as an ambassador to (and for) the Inquisition. It was beginning to wear on him.

As he scanned the crowd once more, he looked for anything that might seem suspicious, rather than merely irritating. Dorian had been more wary of these big public events since his father’s assassination, and was constantly on the hunt for any clues as to who may have been behind it. The only person he had mentioned this to outside of the shrinking circle of friends he considered trustworthy in Tevinter was Evelyn. They’d kept in contact through their enchanted message crystals, which he’d given to her when he’d left Skyhold. But they mostly just used them to update each other on their day to day lives. Dorian felt a little guilty when he realized that it had been a few weeks since he’d last spoken to his friend, but he wouldn’t have wanted to bore her with the political machinations and social vexations of the Imperium that he found himself immersed in.

He sighed as he watched a man slowly moving towards his mother. It was somebody he had not seen before, someone who clearly did not even intend to be seen now. Dorian only spotted him because the glint of light off the man's hidden blade caught his eye as he snuck past a particularly bright area of the ballroom. As the man edged closer to the group of women, he noticed one of the elven archer guards in the next balcony over watching him as well. Before Dorian could even acknowledge the threat, an arrow had shot from the guard and landed square in the man’s chest.

“For fuck’s sake,” Dorian muttered under his breath. He had given clear instructions to keep assassins alive for interrogation, but these guards were new, purchased exclusively for this ridiculous event by his mother, who was beginning to believe _everyone_ in Tevinter, even their own household slaves, were involved in some conspiracy against them. At least this one was a good shot.

“Never a dull moment, is there Dorian?” a familiar voice came from behind him.

“No, not in Minrathous, and certainly not around the Pavus family,” Dorian laughed, not taking his eyes off the commotion below him. Dorian felt a hand affectionately placed on his lower back, and it broke his concentration.

“Careful now Cyril, what will everyone think?” Dorian whispered.

“Oh Dorian, you’re the head of your own noble house now, are you not? And I _know_ you Tevinters are just as swayed by your proclivities as we are in Orlais. The official repression only makes it more enticing,” said Cyril, the smile spreading across his face. “This party is boring, in spite of all the assassins. Maybe we could have a little fun?”

Dorian grabbed Cyril with sudden impatience and pulled him into the shadows of the balcony. “Is this the fun you wanted?” Dorian muttered as he pressed his lips against Cyril’s.

Cyril grabbed the back of Dorian’s head and kissed him deeper, barely coming up for air. Dorian began loosening Cyril’s belt, just enough to slip his hand in, and reached down his pants. Cyril let out a small moan.

“Shhhh!” Dorian hissed at him. “Someone _has_ just tried to kill my mother!”

“She’s been trying to find you a wife all evening. Are you sure it wasn’t you who arranged it?” Cyril laughed.

Dorian reiterated his impatience with the Duke by pressing his knee between his legs and pressing his thigh against the growing bulge he held partly in his hand. This elicited a gasp, but no more talk of his mother, at least, and then Cyril, with a nod of determination, reached for what he hoped was the correct set of buckles underneath Dorian’s official Tevinter robes.

“Uh…Magister Pavus?” The voice brought both men back to reality. Dorian turned around and noticed the guard who had shot the assassin standing there awkwardly, trying not to look at them.

“What is it?” Dorian snapped, straightening himself up and tightening his belt under his robes.

“Your mother wants to speak to you,” he said, staring at Cyril, who had turned a shade of red that was obvious, even in the shadows.

“Well this should be fun,” Dorian muttered as he stomped off the balcony. The guard spun around and rushed after him, leaving Cyril to deal with his own ‘proclivities.’

...

“Dorian, there I was, almost KILLED by an assassin, and you’re up there with Cyril de Montfort, doing…doing MAKER knows what, not a single concern for your mother’s brush with death!” shouted Aquinea, dramatically falling into the chair behind her.

She had been shuffled off to a side room, and was surrounded by a few of the women she’d been chatting with, away from the chaos of the ballroom as the servants cleaned up the dead assassin and guards attempted to assure everyone that there was nothing to be alarmed about.

Maevaris Tilani, the only one in the room, maybe even the entire Imperium, that Dorian trusted, was also there, fanning Aquinea sympathetically, with a wry nod to Dorian as he entered.

“Well isn’t it lucky the assassin failed then, Mother?”

“You’re meant to be an ambassador! Instead you’re bringing even more shame to this family!”

Dorian’s face went from mild annoyance to total rage, and everyone but Maevaris cowered away, as he stormed up to his mother and leaned in close.

“Let’s get one thing straight, _Mother_ ,” he hissed. “You will no longer dictate who I fuck and who I love and you certainly won’t continue to disrespect me. You and Father spent your years hating each other, and if you want to have the same relationship with me, let me know now, so I can leave this monstrous farce of a gathering and this whole noble _life_ behind!”

Aquinea stared wide eyed at Dorian, completely speechless, and she simply nodded.

“Good,” he nodded back, then turned back to the rest of the room, who were just as speechless. With a little chuckle, he added. “Right. Well, I don’t think we’ll be so lucky as to have two assassination attempts in one night, so I’m off to enjoy myself,” and with that, Dorian turned and left, but not before winking at the guard and nodding to Maevaris on his way out.

The next few months were no less painful. Royal gatherings, petty squabbles between nobles, needy guests, secret meetings with those who he and Maevaris had recruited to their cause as they worked tirelessly to root out the old corruption and lies that had taken both of their fathers and Mae’s beloved Thorold, and cost them so many other things throughout their lives. They began calling themselves the _Lucerni_ , as they sought to shed light on the darkness of the Imperium, and they were working to find the people that had a hit on his family _and_ helping with the Inquisition’s ongoing efforts to track down the remaining Venatori and thwart their efforts from within the Imperium.

In the midst of all of this, Dorian had barely any time to breathe. After the assassination attempt against his mother, he had decided to keep the guard who’d dispatched the would-be assassin, whose name he found out was Alarion, close by at all times. And to pay him well. In spite of his mother’s protests that paying their guards sent the wrong message about their family’s status, or might create even more tension between them and the other slave-owning families of Tevinter as their own property got certain _ideas_ about compensation, Dorian started paying them all a decent wage.

After another late evening of writing letters and putting out fires and managing household affairs, Dorian was ready to have a break.

“Alarion, what do you do when you’re not with me?” Dorian sighed, resting his chin on his hands.

“Well…I sleep,” Alarion said, unsure of where the conversation was going.

“Surely a handsome man like yourself is doing more than just standing and sleeping? Do you go out? Tevinter women are known to be free spirits, Alarion, which mind you, doesn’t really interest _me_ , but...” Dorian laughed.

“Well, I do like to have a drink, but I’m not really interested in the women, either,” he said, shuffling his feet.

“Well then,” Dorian said, standing up from his desk, “Let’s go get shit-faced! _My_ treat!”


	3. The Road to Val Royeaux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition head to Val Royeaux to regroup and stuff their faces, when they get a clue from an old friend

The Inquisitor and the other members of the rescue party had made it halfway through Emprise du Lion when Cullen forced Evelyn to stop and set up camp the first night. Everything was frozen, as was expected, and the air was bitter cold, impossibly colder than what they’d faced up in the mountains that surrounded Skyhold. Those who had made the journey to the Emprise in the past with Evelyn in pursuit of Samson and his red lyrium mining operation, swore it had somehow gotten even more frigid. Perhaps it had been the dragons that had kept them from feeling like they were destined to freeze to death in the highlands of the Dales. Despite their insulated ‘winter’ gear, and an abundance of blankets, nobody seemed to have been able to warm up as they tried to settle into their tents for the evening. Even The Iron Bull had draped himself in furs to keep himself from freezing in the harsh cold.

The sun had set and the fire was blazing. Evelyn had been staring into the fire, unmoving, for almost half an hour before she was interrupted by Bull sitting down heavily next to her, resembling some kind of wild horned bear-man monstrosity in all his layers of fur.

“You ok, Boss?” he asked, staring cautiously at her.

“I’m fine, Bull,” Evelyn said, forcing a smile, because he did look ridiculous. “Just anxious to find Dorian.”

“First Solas, now Dorian...something isn’t right. Have you had any updates on Solas?”

“Not a word. It’s like he’s disappeared into thin air, that’s why I’m so worried about Dorian! What if the same thing happens? What if someone’s targeting Inquisition mages? The Venatori seemed especially interested in that busted orb that Solas got all pissy about, and Dorian knows as much as anyone about ancient magic...” Evelyn began tearing up. “And Bull, I’m so sorry...it must have been hard to hear Dorian had moved on.”

“I chose not to go to Tevinter with him. I can’t expect him to wait around,” Bull sighed, his gaze now fixed on the fire, to avoid Evelyn’s sad eyes. She put her arm around him and rested her head at his side, nuzzling into the warm furs.

“You two were quite the couple you know,” Evelyn chuckled sadly. “I’ve never seen anything like it!”

“From Qunari to Elf, he must have a big… _personality_ to keep Dorian interested, “ Bull chuckled.

“It’s not about the size Bull,” Evelyn smirked, half-heartedly. She appreciated that he was at least trying to cheer her up with their usual inappropriate banter, but her heart wasn’t completely in it, and she knew better than probably anyone that neither was his.

“Is that what you tell _your_ lover boy?” Bull nudged Evelyn, smile spreading across his face, as Evelyn’s became more flush. If he couldn’t brighten her mood with dick jokes, he could at least try to embarrass her.

From behind them, Cullen stuck his head out of the tent and huffed, “My personality is perfectly adequate, thank you!” Bull and Evelyn, finally, both burst out into laughter.

As their laughter subsided, Hawke came stomping grumpily out of her tent wrapped in no less than three heavy woollen blankets and slumped down beside them at the fire. “It’s fucking cold and Varric won’t cuddle with me!”

“I’m already on Broody’s shit list for letting you tag along with me to Skyhold!” Varric called out from the tent they’d been sharing. “And now this…rescue mission, I guess? Of a noble ‘Vint mage who might have just run off with his boyfriend, while Fenris is off ripping slavers’ hearts out with Isabela! I’ll be next if he ever finds out!”

“So then it shouldn’t matter, right?!” Hawke shouted back at him. “Might as well act on all those years of pent-up desire between us...”

Varric muttered something inaudible, but deservedly unpleasant, and Hawke just scowled into the fire.

“I thought you were a hearty Fereldan dog-bitch?” Bull smiled. “This cold isn’t supposed to faze you. I’d offer to cuddle, but I don’t think I’m your type.”

“I’ve been living in the Free Marches for too long, I guess,” Hawke shivered, taking absolutely zero offense, and ignoring the other implications altogether. All  _true_ Fereldans seemed to take being compared to dogs as a compliment, a fact Bull had taken note of early on in his interactions with them. “Can’t I just throw myself in the fire?”

“No,” Evelyn muttered. She knew Hawke well enough at this point not to assume she was joking about something like this.

“Please?!” She whined. “Don’t we have any mages with us who can cast some kind of anti-burn barrier or something on me while I just, kinda, lay there in the coals for a bit?” She was staring longingly at the almost white-hot center of the fire.

“No, and it doesn't work like that…” Evelyn trailed off, still thinking about Dorian, who probably would have come up with some ridiculous, ingenious way to indulge her.

“I could just freeze you solid, darling…” Vivienne purred. Evelyn nodded to her as she settled gracefully down across from them. It must’ve been cold if even _she_ had come seeking the warmth of the fire. She normally retired early and left them to their ridiculous late night shenanigans.

Hawke seemed to actually be considering Vivienne’s offer for a few moments. “Do you suppose I will at least be numb enough not to feel the cold?”

“I very much doubt you’d feel anything...ever again,” Vivienne smirked.

“Oh.”

Evelyn actually smiled a little at this, too, and Vivienne acknowledged her gratitude for Hawke’s sudden uncharacteristic silence with a small, but knowing nod.

...

It wasn’t until the group had arrived in Val Royeaux, a week later, that they finally received any new intel on Dorian’s fate. They’d made their way as fast as possible on horseback through the Dales, bypassing Empress Celene’s open invitation to make free use of her Winter Palace. Evelyn was not the only one among their group who preferred never to visit Halamshiral again if she could avoid it. So they took their rest in the small villages along the Imperial Highway, or set up camp in the increasingly-more-tolerable climate of the Heartlands instead. Cullen was perhaps the most appreciative among them of the extensive time and money they’d invested in repairing the ancient system of bridges across the Waking Sea (with the help of some very reluctant dwarves and Fiona's newly-revived College of Enchanters in Cumberland) to the reclaimed White Spire. It shaved a few weeks off their journey, and spared him another miserable boat ride.

The group sat at the café in the shimmering white and gold capital, stuffing their faces with complimentary pastries, sweet and savory cakes and pies, and tarts with bright red raspberry jam, sent along by Divine Victoria herself, and nobody seemed too keen to start planning their next move. Evelyn sat arms crossed at the head of the table, a stern look on her face as she watched the others eat like they hadn’t eaten in over a week, which really wasn’t that far from the truth. She had kept them moving at a grueling pace, and none of them had done this kind of travelling since they’d defeated Corypheus almost two years prior, but she was still struggling to keep her normal composure, feeling that any break they took, any distraction, especially in this treacherous place, was to the detriment of Dorian.

“You’re proving nothing by starving yourself, my dear,” Vivienne whispered, gently putting her hand over Evelyn’s arm and nudging a plate toward her. “If we’re going to find information on him anywhere, it’s here. And your arrival has already been made known to the people who know things.”

One of the waiters came over and placed a bowl of shiny red apples on the table, brushing briefly against Vivienne before excusing himself.

“I know,” Evelyn sighed as she reached over the cream-filled cake in front of her for an apple. But there was something oddly familiar about Vivienne’s phrasing. Like these weren’t her words, but a pointed message of some kind. But then Evelyn realized how hungry she was and dismissed the weirdness as her own hangry disgruntledness.

After everyone had had their fill, including Evelyn, and their lunch had devolved into nostalgic reminiscing and playful insults, Vivienne suddenly stood up, clearing her throat with a decisive cough. “I will be staying here in the capital for the time being. I do not believe I am needed in your continued search for our beloved companion as much as I am here to help our Blessed Divine Victoria manage the continuing tensions between the various factions she has inherited and further exacerbated in her naiveté.”

Evelyn looked up bewildered, and Vivienne put her hand on her shoulder, with a reassuring smile.

“Evelyn, darling, come with me, please. There is a matter that requires your attention before you leave from here.”

Vivienne lead Evelyn with a graceful urgency that only Vivienne could’ve managed through the streets and into the docks of Val Royeaux. She reached into her sleeve and pulled out a scrap of paper, passing it to Evelyn.

“ _Docks at 1pm_ ” was scrawled in rushed handwriting. Evelyn looked at Vivienne and nodded.

They both took a look around the docks to see if there was anyone suspicious, but the only thing suspicious was the lack of people. As they waited, a whistling sound flew past Evelyn’s ear, and a loud *thwunk* was heard on the bright red wall behind her. Both women turned around to see the arrow with a note tied around it with red string. Evelyn picked it up and hastily unraveled it, an eager smile replacing the frown that had been there just moments prior. She looked up in the direction the arrow had come from, but there was no sign of Sera or any other Red Jenny, and Evelyn knew better than to go looking for them.

\---

 _Elfy boyfriend is called Alarion Cioran_  
_Son of little people, Elleva and Tathaln, squished down by the twat arsehole Pavus nobs after sneaking scraps from the kitchen for their kid...fate unknown ( ~~probably~~ definitely dead)_  
_Little elfy boy doesn’t matter in Tevinter, doesn’t exist until he saves Dorian’s bitchy mum from a shite assassination attempt at a fancy party 20 years later ← can’t be a coinkydink right?_  
_Dorian pays him and the other slaves now... ~~Stupid?~~ ~~Guilty?~~ ~~Blackmail?~~ ~~Thinks he’s cute?~~ Friggin’ weird is what...everyone knows Tevinters don’t pay their slaves!_  
_Little people talking about something big, bigger than usual, bigger than Dorian’s puny revolution...something for them..._

_\---_

“Oh shit...” Evelyn said, wide-eyed.

“Shit, indeed,” Vivienne agreed.

Then someone else’s familiar shorthand...

\---

 _Last seen heading south across the Minanter River via Imperial Hwy_  
_Small entourage, trying not to be noticed_  
_Harding is on it and will contact you along the way_

_\---_

“The Divine still has time to play spymaster, I see,” Vivienne mused, with only a touch of bitterness.

Evelyn flipped over the note and saw a crude drawing of an elf sticking her tongue out and a dwarf with comically large breasts holding hands with hearts drawn between them. Below the drawing was scribbled:

_Widdle said YES! Sort out this shite then come do our wedding! Or else Old Chantryhat Leliana will have to… :(_


	4. The Elven Bodyguard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashbacks to Alarion and Dorian getting super flirty and weird as they get to know each other. Dorian's mum buggers off. And Dorian makes plans to visit his Inquisition pals.

The Stonehammer Inn was poorly lit, on purpose, not just because many of its visitors were dwarves who were used to life underground, but also to give its patrons the illusion of discretion while they schemed, made deals, and flirted with people they shouldn’t. It was the go-to spot in Minrathous for _this_ kind of thing for everyone from paupers to Magisters, and with the reputation it had, the owner, an ex-Carta dwarf named Stasia who was no stranger to wealth or poverty herself, having made her fortune later in life on a suspicious claim to a dying widower’s lyrium supply, had made sure that there were a seemingly infinite number of private rooms, some with discreet, labyrinthine entrances, and plenty of exits in case any of her customers ever needed to make a hasty departure.

What it lacked in the warmth, charm, and camaraderie of the Herald’s Rest at Skyhold it made up for in obvious reminders of what class and privilege and corruption could get you in the Imperium, along with any number of other ignoble pursuits of everyone from the lowest rungs of society to the highest just trying to get ahead of someone else.

The main dining room of the tavern was decorated with low hanging candles and a roaring fire pit in the middle of the room. Tables surrounded the pit, where barmaids darted around, delivering ales and steaks and other tavern fare to the ‘regular patrons,’ and up a few steps, the VIP tables sat, with a view of the riffraff below and their own special menu. 

These were usually reserved for bored nobles who were looking to get themselves into a little public mischief, because there was little else the ‘Vints loved more than a good scandal, and that’s exactly where Dorian and Alarion found themselves late one evening. They were hoping for some kind of confrontation that might give them a lead on the recurring assassination attempts or for a drunken Venatori agent to reveal themself and challenge the co-leader of the newly-formed Lucerni, seemingly enjoying a drink out with his manservant, to an ill-fated duel. Maybe they’d get lucky and get both! The two things Dorian had been obsessing over for the past few months certainly seemed to be leading to an overlapping source, but for all the work he and Mae had been doing winning over hearts and minds (and pointing out hypocrisy) within the Magisterium, they had yet to figure out who _exactly_ was putting the hits out on the Pavus family.

A green and pink, gradient, glowing cocktail sat in front of Dorian, with a cherry playfully floating on top, some cheap bartending magic that Dorian had always despised. Of all the amazing things you could do with magic, making a cherry float had to be one of the most boring ways to spruce a drink up. Dorian thought about how Sera would have suggested fireworks, or making the cherry pip go up someone’s nose, or arsehole, as a funny prank. Sera was someone who could have really spiced the seedy tavern up, if he could ever convince her to venture into the Imperium and brave her childish fear of magic, even if it would’ve taken all his ambassadorial clout to keep her from being arrested or worse, mistaken for an insubordinate slave.

Dorian glanced over at Alarion. He was sitting upright, ever-vigilant, at his side, condensation from his ale running over his hand, as he absentmindedly held it like the awkward prop that it was. He hadn’t even taken a sip. He never drank when they were out like this in public, always working, though Dorian had persuaded him to share a drink or two when they were alone or he was off guard duty.

Dorian sighed, and wrapped his own hand around the handle of the mug, tugging it away and lifting it to his mouth.

Alarion rolled his eyes at him unamused and returned his gaze back to the tavern below.

“I don’t know why you even bother ordering. I certainly hope it’s not to humor me.” He smacked his lips disapprovingly after another sip of the foamy ale, the same swill Cabot served and Bull used to drink by the bucketful. “I can think of far better things than stale dwarf piss to throw my family’s money away on, anyway.”

“Don’t you suppose it would look a bit suspicious, me just sitting here with my arms crossed on the table next to you? Or should I just keep my bow strung and pointed out at the taverngoers?”

“Now that _would_ completely defeat our purposes here, wouldn’t it?” Dorian smirked. “Though now I’m interested in seeing how long you think you could hold a strung bow with those spindly arms of yours.”

“Long enough to hit my mark.” Alarion finally flashed a hint of a smile. Dorian knew by now how to elicit such small, delightful things from him. Pride was definitely one of Alarion's weak points, too.

Dorian nodded, smiling to himself, and taking another sip of Alarion’s ale. “Of course.”

Dorian continued to ignore his offensive cocktail in favor of the ale he pretended to hate that reminded him of his friends from the Inquisition, while Alarion, now empty-handed, continued to scan the tavern in brooding silence. Dorian half-hoped that it was their budding relationship that was on his mind, not work, not assassins or political rivals, though he knew Alarion was as dependable and focused on his job as he was handsome.

Over the past few weeks they had been spending more and more extracurricular time together. _Pretending_ to drink in high-profile places, and _actually_ drinking together on the rare occasions they could both let their guard down, travelling together as secret meetings and not-so-secret ambassadorial duties pulled Dorian back and forth to every corner of the Imperium, with Alarion never far from his side. Which had given them plenty of opportunities for the little touches and fond smiles between them that were wholly unnecessary, eye contact that lingered for far too long and even, sometimes, when Alarion could be distracted from his guard duties, blatant flirting that they both knew would have gotten them in more trouble if Dorian wasn’t already such a well-known pariah with diplomatic immunity, thanks to his role in the Inquisition, and the luxury of his noble status.

Aquinea, of course, had wanted Alarion removed from Dorian’s side as soon as she noticed the first signs of their interest in each other, but Dorian had the pleasure of reminding her that he had saved her life, and it would just be plain rude to remove him after _that_.

Dorian finished his last few gulps of ale in an uncharacteristically undignified display. “Silver for your thoughts?” he asked, as he slapped Alarion on the back, acting more stereotypically drunk and ‘dwarven’ by the minute, hoping someone at this Maker-forsaken den of corruption might assume he was drunk enough to try and mess with him.

Alarion jumped in surprise at the unexpectedly brusque contact and Dorian’s sudden shift in demeanor. “It’s…it’s nothing,” he stammered, with a little smile. Dorian couldn’t tell if it was forced on his account or not, as Alarion recovered and continued staring out at the tavern.

“Bullshit, Alarion! In the time I’ve been around you, you’ve never not been thinking, so please...share,” Dorian said, scoffing at the very thought of Alarion trying to pretend he wasn’t filled with worry, when that’s what he was seemingly hard-wired to do.

“It’s just that...you haven’t touched _your_ drink, either.” Alarion smirked. “And now you’ll need to order _me_ another ale.”

“That’s not it at all. Besides, you could just _pretend_ to drink mine if you needed something to occupy your hands.” Dorian raised his eyebrows a little, realizing the missed potential of that last line too late, with a great deal of disappointment. He was off his game, it seemed.

“But that’s off the _VIP_ menu,” Alarion said, finally turning to face Dorian, and feigning reverence for the ridiculous concoction.

“Yes, and...? You’re with me. So you are, by proxy, also ‘Very Important,’ you see.” 

“But it’s _magical_ …” Alarion waved his fingers over it like a street performer about to pull cards or a nug out of a hat.

“Please! The minimal amount of gimmicky magic these damn cherries require to float in this abomination hardly counts,” Dorian snorted.

Alarion laughed a little, but shook his head and looked back out over the tavern, refusing to even _pretend_ to drink it. 

After a couple of moments, he turned back toward him, frowning. “Dorian…”

“Alarion…” Dorian drawled, mocking his earnestness.

“I’m not meant to be here to _enjoy_ myself. I’m paid to protect you…and your _mother_ ,” he added, between his teeth. “Remember? We’re here to gather information…”

“You’re enjoying yourself, then?” Dorian said, smiling rather smugly. “I _do_ aim to please.”

 _Oh no_ , Dorian thought to himself as he watched Alarion’s face fall again in dismay at his continued refusal to take their work here seriously. _Too much_.

“I...Dorian -- which as a guard in your employ, I should NOT be calling you -- it’s inappropriate! You can pay us, call us whatever else you’d like other than your ‘slaves,’ and pretend to be enlightened and rebellious, but this is still Tevinter. I am still just an unremarkable elf your mother _purchased_ for protection. You are still a Magister.” He lowered his voice and gave him a sudden conspiratorial look. “And if we’re to be successful at this, then you need to act your part and I need to act mine. At least in _public._ ”

“Are you ashamed?” Dorian asked quietly, almost whispering, leaning slightly closer to Alarion, his breath smelling of the ale he’d just commandeered.

The cocky flirtatiousness was gone completely from his tone and his face. He looked genuinely concerned, almost needy, and none of this made any sense to Alarion. Wasn’t this all just games to him, too? The flirting, the innuendo, all just meant to piss people off and rile up his mother. Alarion was just a prop. He knew this. He accepted this as the part he was paid to play, part of a larger plan. But he hadn’t meant to actually develop feelings for the spoiled ‘Vint. And he certainly didn’t expect Dorian to develop any sort of _real_ fondness for him, either.

“Of what? I don’t think I’m the one who would be ashamed of -- anyway, _we’ve_ done nothing to be ashamed of.”

“But _would_ you be ashamed if…” Dorian leaned even closer, then hesitated as he noticed the look of incredulity on Alarion’s face. “Alarion, what do you think of me? Be honest.”

Alarion sighed. “You’re very…modern,” he said, wringing his hands, which, indeed, without a mug of ale to hold, or a bow to string, had struggled to find any rest for the past few minutes. “But rather ridiculous at times.” He smiled warmly. “And apparently, you can’t handle your ale.”

“Are you _modern_ , too?” Dorian asked, leaning back away from him. “Because you’re certainly not ridiculous.”

“I bear no ill will about who someone chooses to sleep with, if that’s what you’re asking. Elves have never had strong opinions about it, even before the decisions about who we were allowed to be with were made by others. At least for those who are forced to endure life as slaves. The Dalish are almost as open as the Qunari your people like to vilify for their sexual practices.”

This seemed to have hit a nerve, and it put Dorian on the defensive, though Alarion had no idea why. It seemed the mage still held some things closer to his heart than Alarion was allowed access to.

“That’s actually _not_ what I meant,” he said, trying to sound more impatient than wounded. “Do you really believe in the causes you are being paid to put your life on the line for? The Lucerni, the safety of me... _and_ my mother?”

“Does it matter? It is a job. And before you decided to start paying me, I hardly had a choice. I don’t really have one now, do I?”

“Yes, well...I suppose that _is_ true.” Dorian looked genuinely hurt by this, even though he had no right to be. _He_ had never known what it was like to be considered someone else’s disposable property. _His_ parents hadn’t been sent to rot in a Tevinter prison for trying to feed their son. _He_ hadn’t been abandoned and left to fend for himself as a child begging in the cruel slums of Qarinus.

But Dorian had no idea that Alarion had been that little elven boy his own parents had tossed out of the household like vermin after having his mother and father arrested. He hadn’t even known he existed, because to Tevinter society, he didn’t.

In the awkward silence that once again fell between them, Dorian waved one of the barmaids over and held the empty mug up along with two fingers. She nodded and quickly hustled off to get him two more mugs of ale.

Alarion cleared his throat and tried again. “I believe we should always be working toward a better world for ourselves and future generations.”

“Bold words for an elf in Tevinter! Don’t you ever think about taking more drastic action? You could kill me, take my family’s fortune, and lead a small slave revolt with mother’s household servants alone. Some Magisters might actually support you in the short-term, getting rid of one of the biggest obstacles in _their_ path to world domination. Just before turning on you, that is.”

“I...do not.” 

A lie. At least, it would’ve been one a few years ago, when he still used to fantasize about taking his revenge on the Pavus family. Months or weeks ago, even. Especially on days he had been assigned to guard Aquinea for any considerable length of time.

“Why not?”

“I think you’re a decent man who is trying to do a lot of good in Tevinter,” he paused, choosing his words carefully.

Dorian could tell he was holding something back, and Alarion could see that he was waiting for more. 

“And I...admire that about you.” _Well, shit_. He certainly hadn’t meant to say _that_.

“You shouldn’t. I have spent most of my life reveling in the luxuries and privileges afforded to me by my birth, and shunning the responsibilities you so readily seem to want to take up _as a job_.”

“Well, we all have plenty of unadmirable qualities. It’s the fact that you are _trying_ to change things now that I admire.”

Dorian smiled at him, flattered, to be sure, but there was a hint of sadness in his eyes. “You remind me of someone.”

“Oh? Who might that be?” Alarion tried not to sound too alarmed. There was no way Dorian would have recognized him. He had only seen him a handful of times, being shooed out of sight at the Pavus estate, when they were both very young, before Dorian was sent away to, and subsequently expelled from, a string of the finest mage academies and boarding schools in Tevinter, eventually being taken in by the now-notorious Gereon Alexius.

“I don’t know.” Dorian waved his hand dismissively. “Maybe just someone I’d like to try to be more like.” The sadness faded a little as his face lit back up. He was almost blushing now. “If it’s not too _inappropriate_ for me to say, I admire you, too.”

Alarion cleared his throat in a futile attempt to keep himself from appearing anymore flustered by this revelation. “You really are doing a terrible job of acting the part of a drunken nobleman out to raise hell with his incredibly _handsome_ elven escort.”

“Am I?”

“Well, it’s not _entirely_ your fault. I mean...if I were doing a better job, I’d be laughing obnoxiously at all your horrible jokes, draped over your arm, touching you inappropriately, and drinking to forget that I’d sold my soul to a desire demon for this thankless job.”

“Oh, that _does_ sound just awful. For _you_.” Dorian grinned. “And what would _I_ be doing...that is, if we were to do this correctly?”

“You’d need to twirl your mustache a bit more, order us one of everything off the VIP Menu, then throw it at the waitress and tell her it’s worse than Fereldan dogshit.”

“I _suppose_ we _could_ do that. But she’s been so nice!”

“Well, then make sure to brag about all the slaves you sacrificed in your last blood magic ritual in order to get an erection.”

“Wow, that’s...a bit _dark_.”

“Too much?”

“Yes. I wouldn’t want people to think my dick doesn’t work. I’d rather just say the blood magic was to correct my receding hairline, inherited from my mother’s side, of course.”

Alarion laughed. A loud, boisterous cackle that actually drew several of the tavern’s patrons’ attention to them for the first time that night.

“Oh! Did you see that?” Dorian smiled deviously at him. “Step one complete! Remind me again of step two...”

One of Alarion’s fidgeting hands had somehow found its way under the table and was hovering over Dorian’s thigh without him noticing. He reached down and gave it a hard squeeze, and Dorian nearly jumped out of his chair, looking just as surprised as Alarion had when he had slapped him on the back earlier.

“Is this the part of our little play when we kiss, or…?” Dorian was trying to maintain his usual cocksure tone, but Alarion could hear the tremble in his voice.

“Well, I think it’d be _most_ scandalous if _I_ kissed _you_ ,” Alarion grinned, moving his hand further up Dorian’s thigh. He was enjoying the effect he had on the mage, who seemed to have forgotten how to be his overconfident swaggering self now that Alarion had called his bluff.

“Well, then, by all means...just make it good. These people deserve a good show,” he rasped, barely able to get the words out.

Alarion leaned over and pressed his mouth against Dorian’s, who remained stiff, his lips closed tight and tense. Alarion hesitated, then. Maybe he had misread him, and this _was_ crossing a line. He realized his busy fingers were digging into Dorian’s thigh again, and he quickly released him and backed away, frantically searching Dorian’s face for some clue as to what he was thinking. He saw the same neediness in his eyes from before, the desire to be loved and accepted and thought of as ‘good,’ or at least ‘ _trying_.’

Before Alarion could apologize, Dorian reached a hand up to his face, grazing his jawbone with his fingertips before drawing his mouth back toward his own, this time to lips that were softer, more open, and accepting. A little bit eager, even. Dorian turned around and braced himself against the table, pulling Alarion around with him into his lap and knocking over his fancy cocktail with a stray elbow, the contents muddling and spilling onto the floor. The barmaid came rushing over, apologizing as she set down the mugs of ale Dorian had ordered, and attempted to clean up the mess around them as the damn cherry still floated in the air behind them, eluding her. Neither of them even noticed her, or the mess. But the rest of the tavern certainly noticed _them_.

…

The next few months were a blur for the two of them. Dorian made no attempt to hide his affection for Alarion from anyone, knowing full well it did nothing for his public image or his relationship with his mother, neither of which he held in very high regard. Aquinea spent more and more time away from the estate in Minrathous, eventually moving herself and her own loyal servants almost entirely into the Pavus summer estate in Vyrantium, her childhood home. 

Alarion kept his job as Dorian’s guard, but his on-duty hours seemed to dwindle, much to his dismay. In spite of Dorian’s waning vigilance, each night Alarion would still walk the halls of the estate to make sure there was nobody lurking in the shadows outside, sometimes disappearing up to an hour to make sure it was all clear, much to Dorian’s grumbling complaints. He explained to Dorian that he didn’t trust the other guards, and he called them lazy and careless. Dorian responded by giving him and everyone else a raise.

“You’re an idiot,” Alarion had told him. “And it wouldn’t surprise me if _every_ noble family had a hit out on you for how you are thoroughly undermining the entire socio-economic foundation of the Imperium.”

“Worse things have been said about me by people I was _supposed_ to care far more deeply about,” Dorian shrugged, with a grin.

During the day, Dorian continued his work with Maevaris and the growing Lucerni party, who were beginning to form a formidable opposition to the more conservative and corruptible factions in the Magisterium. And he continued to work to find out who had been behind the assassination of his father and was trying to take out the rest of his family. But he spent most of his evenings wrapped up with Alarion, enjoying the fact that he could finally be himself in his own home, without anyone trying to alter his mind or marry him off. 

As the days went on, Dorian began to feel an undeniable longing for his old friends in the Inquisition, wanting them to meet the man he had come to care so deeply for. He also desperately needed a break from the exhausting life being an ambassador and the head of his family had cracked up to be, so he pulled out his message crystal and contacted Evelyn.

“Dorian!” Evelyn squealed delightedly. Over the past couple of years, their friendship had grown to the point where they could truly be themselves, which meant that Dorian was one of the very rare people who got a glimpse of a more relaxed, excitable version of Evelyn.

“Evelyn! How are you doing? Is your brute of a husband keeping you busy?”

“Of course he is, newlyweds and all that! What are you up to? How is the search going? Have you and Mae rooted out every last corrupt Magister in the Imperium yet?”

“Well, we have a few leads, but I’ve been wrapped up in other matters,” he said, grinning to himself at the cheesy play on words.

“Oh?”

“I’ve met someone. He’s wonderful, smart, kind, and gives even Cullen a run for his looks, that’s for sure,” Dorian gushed.

“Oh, we’ll see about that! Have you even _seen_ Cullen without a shirt?”

“Are you offering your own husband up for some kind of shirtless beefcake contest? You know there’s not much of that Fereldan brawn to see underneath all our magisterial robes in Tevinter!”

“Does he make you as happy as Bull did?” Evelyn asked softly, after her giggles had subsided.

Dorian paused. _Bull_. Someone he had tried his best to forget. Nobody held a candle to Bull. Dorian never had to try to be anyone with him. Not witty, not charming, not smug, just himself, so when Bull chose not to leave Skyhold with him, it broke his heart. He’d _thought_ it’d be an easy choice, but Bull’s loyalty to his Chargers and to his work with the Inquisition apparently outweighed his desire to be with him. Of course, he pretended like he understood and laughed it off as a foolish, half-serious plan anyway, but he wasn’t sure he could ever forgive Bull for that betrayal.

“Better!” Dorian forced himself to sound chirpy, but Evelyn knew him well enough to hear how hard he was trying. “I need to go my dear, but I’ll be seeing you!” and with that, Dorian severed the connection.

He sat there contemplating the call -- Evelyn, Skyhold, everything. Dorian decided it was time to go home and visit his friends, even if it meant crossing paths with Bull. He could do it, with Alarion at his side.

It took some time for Dorian to find Alarion and tell him of his plans. He was huddled in the corner of one of his mother’s unused parlors, talking into a message crystal. Dorian paused for a moment, wondering if it was a good time to interrupt. Instead, he decided to eavesdrop.

“When do you think they'll send another?” Alarion whispered, his voice full of concern, verging on panic.

Dorian was unable to understand what the other person was saying. It seemed to be encrypted somehow, tuned in some fashion for Alarion’s ears only, though he caught some fragments that sounded almost like some dialect of Elvhen. It sent chills down his spine, something felt strangely familiar about the tone of whoever was speaking to Alarion.

“Sir, we’ve begun packing your bags. Will Alarion be joining you on this trip, too?”

Dorian jumped and turned around. An older elven maid stood staring up at him. He blinked, not sure he recognized her. She had probably been one of his mother’s personal slaves, he figured, which would explain why he didn’t know her. But why hadn’t she taken her along with her to Vyrantium?

“Dorian?” Alarion asked incredulously, “Were you _spying_?”

“Me? I’d never!” Dorian said confidently, a small smile spreading across his face. “Speaking of not spying, who were you speaking to?”

“Just an old friend, nothing important.” Alarion smiled reassuringly.

“I didn’t realize you spoke any Elvhen...”

“Well, you’ve never asked, have you?” 

“Sorry!” He put his hands up apologetically. “Alarion, dear, do you happen to speak Elvhen?”

“Why yes, Dorian, _dear_. I've studied ancient Elvhen, Tevene, and of course, Common, and can get by with most of the Dalish dialects. My clan's Keeper was very interested in preparing us to interact with our own kind and the rest of Thedas and made linguistic study an important part of our education...”

Another set of lies. He was beginning to have to tell more and more of them to avoid revealing details about his past that might’ve alarmed Dorian.

“You probably deserve another raise, then!”

The older woman was still standing there, waiting for an answer, and she coughed, politely, of course, to get his attention.

“Right! Well, yes, pack his bags, too, because we’re going to Skyhold!”

She nodded, gave Alarion a strange little glance, and then hurried off back down the hall.

Alarion was staring at Dorian with a mix of alarm and annoyance. 

“What?”

“Ambassadorial assignment?”

“No.”

“Have the Venatori infiltrated the Inquisition?”

“No, Alarion! And I don’t suspect any of them have been trying to murder me, either, though Sera probably _would_ find it a hilarious stunt to send a crew of hapless assassins after me.”

Alarion frowned. This wasn’t the kind of joke he was in the mood to appreciate. 

“This trip is entirely for pleasure, something we both need a bit more of in our lives, judging by the sour look on your face. I’ve decided it’s time you meet my friends!” Dorian walked the rest of the way into the parlor and put his arm around him, steering him out of the room. “Tell me, have you ever played Wicked Grace…?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! This one is a doozy. Apologies!


	5. The Temple of Dirthamen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition search party gets waylaid investigating some Venatori activity en route to Val Chevin, and end up gaining a couple more ~~degenerates~~ companions from Kirkwall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Transphobia, bigotry, racism, other Venatori ugliness

After a night of rest and relaxation in Val Royeaux in spite of Evelyn’s protests now that she'd received _something_ about Dorian's whereabouts, the Inquisition search party had a brief, but _official_ audience with the Divine, who extended the Maker’s blessing over their rescue efforts with a wink and her usual wry, beatific smile. They said their goodbyes and headed northeast, veering off the Imperial Highway for a bit, and cutting along the coast toward Cumberland, where they planned to take the main roads back up through Nevarra, hoping to intercept Dorian and whoever he was travelling with, willingly or not.

They had intended to make their way quickly to Val Chevin, a quiet little riverside town on friendly terms with the Inquisition, in hopes that Scout Harding might have left them another update with one of their contacts there, but on their second day of travel, one of Cullen’s scouts came back to them with news of a group of Venatori camped outside of some ancient ruins nearby.

“I thought you’d chased them all out of Orlais already?” Hawke asked, a little too smugly for Evelyn’s liking.

“We had more important things to worry about,” Evelyn huffed. “Corypheus, Red Templars... _you_ , of all people, should remember that.” She glared at her.

Though she certainly appreciated what Hawke had brought to the Inquisition, and tolerated some of her foolishness because of Varric, maybe even appreciated it at times, she did not have much patience for the Champion right now. Not when Dorian’s fate still remained such a worrisome mystery, and _definitely_ not with the near constant, irritating buzzing sensation in her hand that had seemed to worsen the further they got from Skyhold. She'd _meant_ to ask Vivienne about it before they left Orlais, but she'd forgotten in her rush to continue on with their search and rescue mission.

“Sorry...yeesh! I thought we’d killed him the first time, I swear! How was I supposed to know he could just, I dunno, _possess_ whoever he wanted!" Hawke was really quite terrible at apologizing. "And the red lyrium wasn’t _my_ fault, really. It was mostly Varric’s!”

Varric sighed. “Okay, ladies…it all worked out in the end, didn’t it? If it hadn’t, we wouldn’t be out here chasing after Sparkler and his latest boytoy. We’d be dead or locked away in the dungeons of Redcliffe with red lyrium growing out of our skulls, right?”

Evelyn glared at him with almost the same level of disdain she had for Hawke at the moment. And Hawke shuddered at the thought, at her own guilt in this, having seen the effects of the stuff on people she’d known, maybe not been entirely on the friendliest terms with, but had actually _known_ in Kirkwall. And Evelyn had barely been able to speak about the alternate future she and Dorian had fought so hard to undo. 

Varric saw both of their reactions, saw the tiniest of cracks in their defensive facades, and decided to change the subject. “More importantly, what are we gonna do about these Venatori nutjobs poking around the ruins? Leave ‘em to their digging and looting, or…?”

Cullen cleared his throat. “These ruins are not too far out of our way. And the Venatori may have something to do with Dorian’s disappearance. We could deal with them, and potentially gain some new information.”

Evelyn nodded decisively. "Right, okay, then we'll go investigate."

“But of course, it _is_ up to you, dear…”

Bull snorted. “How very _adequate_ of you, Commander!”

...

It turned out that the ruins were the supposedly ‘lost’ Temple of Dirthamen, dedicated to the Elvhen god of secrets, according to the scraps of old archaeological notes and failed missives they found as they hastily worked their way through the creepy maze-like catacombs, expecting to find Venatori lurking around every corner, but finding them disappointingly absent. Evelyn vaguely remembered one of the Dalish mages who had shown up and offered himself in service to the Inquisition mentioning such a place, hinting at some powerful relic contained therein that was important to his people, but it was fitting that without Solas or Morrigan or any of her librarians or rune experts there, she could recall nothing else as they made their way deeper and deeper into the temple. At Cullen’s urging, they attempted not to disturb anything unnecessarily, but their presence alone seemed to awaken a veritable army of undead and haunting spirits, which they were able to put to rest without much struggle, before making their way back to the entrance, having seen no sign that the Venatori had ever even been inside.

Evelyn was beginning to think the entire thing had been a waste of time, and the annoying tingling sensations shooting increasingly up and down her arm certainly weren't helping her mood any, either. Perhaps the Anchor was aggravated by the stress of worrying about and searching fruitlessly for their friend. It made her miss Solas, too, or at least whatever he'd done to calm the Anchor whenever it used to act up before.

“Cullen, your scout said there was a large group of Venatori out here,” she reminded him, accusatorily. It was a tone she rarely took with anyone, let alone her husband or her Commander. “Am I blind? I see no evidence that anyone _alive_ has been here for awhile.” 

Not only was she calling into question the scout’s abilities, she was beginning to wonder if this hadn’t been an intentional distraction. Perhaps Cullen's troops weren't as loyal as they thought.

“It’s possible they found what they were looking for and moved on?” He shrugged, trying not to take it personal. He was as baffled as she was, and refused to entertain the possibility that one of his most trusted soldiers had deliberately misled them.

“Or maybe they were some of the fresher corpses we just fought!” Hawke added, trying, and failing, to be helpful.

“Do you remember which scout it was that claimed to have seen them? Is he or she nearby? I’d like to have a word with them.”

Cullen shook his head. "I sent all our scouts out ahead of us to make sure there were no more obstacles between here and Val Chevin."

Evelyn’s face twisted in consternation, and she turned away from him, looking northeast. “Then I suppose we should move on, as well,” she sighed.

He lowered his voice, then, speaking only so Evelyn could hear. "But you're right to be suspicious. I see no clues of anyone being out here recently,” he muttered at her back.

He glanced around the ruins, now quiet and empty of even the ancient spirits who'd haunted this place for thousands of years, noticing a narrow corridor they hadn’t ventured into, just off to the side of the entrance. It was almost as if it had just appeared there, but that wouldn’t have been possible, would it? 

Cullen shook his head again. “Perhaps we should have one last look around in there? We might find something useful. They may have left some provisions behind."

Evelyn used her veilfire to light up the long corridor, which led back down into a much larger room. There were glowing runes scattered around the place, like old elven graffiti. Evelyn thought about sketching them out, collecting information for Solas, in case he were to return, but the others were racing ahead, more interested in whatever was waiting in the bigger room at the end of the hallway. She hurried forward to light the way for them.

It was apparently a treasure room, with multiple levels full of chests and collections of old books and paintings and statues and other old, valuable-looking items, not all of them as old as the temple. Somebody, or a group of somebodies, had been using it to stash things away for a very long time. Perhaps the Venatori _had_ been here, after all.

They began opening the chests and flipping through old books in search of anything valuable or useful. Varric and Hawke stood giggling next to a painting of a naked elf on the wall, and whatever Hawke was whispering made Bull, who was _always_ listening, let out a disgusted huff and walk away from them to investigate a rather ordinary-looking urn on the opposite side of the room.

Cullen walked cautiously around, staring at the ground, his brows furrowed. He headed back towards a large statue of a wolf near the entrance, and halted.

“Has anyone been over here?” he shouted, trying to get his distracted team’s attention. 

Each responded with some form of “nope” or a shrug and continued rifling through the contents of the mysterious room. Evelyn walked over to see what the problem was, when Cullen stuck his arm out to stop her.

“Look at this,” he said, pointing down. 

A fresh set of footprints led back to the entrance, some had been wiped away by everyone walking around. 

Evelyn whispered “shit” to herself as Cullen unsheathed his sword and announced that they had company.

A boiling hot ball of light flew past Cullen, causing the fur on his shoulder pads to smoke. He threw himself behind a pillar, as the group of Venatori closed in on them. Cullen looked from behind the pillar to see that the group was mostly mages, with a few shadow rogues darting in and out of visibility, and three large, fearsome bodyguards, who looked at least half-Qunari.

Iron bull went running into the group, swinging his axe above his head and bringing it down on one of the mages. The man crumpled to the ground as his head split open. Cullen raced forward to assist him, plunging his sword into the belly of another mage. 

Suddenly everything turned to chaos. Cullen found himself surrounded by Venatori, two mages, a rogue wielding two extra sharp-looking daggers, and a warrior coming in hot. Iron Bull was caught up in his own fight now, a cluster of mages surrounding him while he took down one of their guards with another swing of his axe. Varric was aiming for a couple of rogues scaling up to a balcony on the second level. He couldn’t see Hawke or Evelyn, but he could hear them both yelling to each other for assistance behind him.

He swung his sword, sinking it into another mage’s shoulder. She shrieked with pain as she stumbled backwards, aiming her staff towards him, but failing to do anything except for a small flame that popped weakly out of it. Her ally shouted in alarm, and ice sprung out of his staff, engulfing Cullen. Frozen, Cullen could do nothing but watch as a rogue came flying towards him, but at the last minute, a blinding white-hot light flashed across him, thawing him out and setting the rogue on fire. He turned his head and Evelyn nodded at him from the other side of the room, where she and Hawke had somehow managed to take down another of the huge, towering warrior-guards.

With a few more swings and flashes of ice and fire, they’d managed to thin out the group as they formed a hub of knives and swords swinging out from the center. Evelyn and Varric picked off those who tried to skirt around outside of their reach or make their way back to the entrance, now that they realized they were no match for the little search party.

“Keep one alive!” Cullen shouted, gesturing at one of the few remaining mages. 

But by the time the knives and swords and bolts and fireballs had stopped flying, there were no surviving Venatori left in sight.

“Alright, which one of you IDIOTS killed the last mage?” Cullen yelled, eyeing everyone angrily, including Evelyn, who was looking rather sheepish for a change.

“Wasn’t me,” Bull said, sitting down in exhaustion, and hastily wrapping a bandage around a large gash on his bicep.

Evelyn caught his eye, nodding at the injury, and he waved her aside. “Just a scratch, Boss!”

“Well now we can’t interrogate anyone about Dorian, so well done!” Cullen snapped, sheathing his sword with an angry grunt and looking around at the mess.

They had already begun to put away their weapons, a few minor injuries easily cleaned and bandaged, and a couple of potions gulped down, when one last rogue appeared mid-air, knives out, behind Cullen, with no time for anyone to react. He fell to the ground, feeling blinding pain as one of the daggers plunged into his back. Evelyn screamed and the rogue was thrown off of him. In a flash, Hawke had pinned down the man and was tying him up, as Evelyn rushed to Cullen’s side. He felt his wound go ice cold as she forced the bleeding to temporarily stop, and then she helped him to his feet.

Cullen stood shakily, breathing heavily as he held his wound and took an elfroot potion from his wife. She shoved his hand away and immediately began pulling his cloak off to get a better look at it, keeping a steady stream of numbing cold flowing over it. As she continued to fuss over him, demanding bandages and herbs from her pack, he looked over at Hawke to see her still straddled over the Venatori agent, with a knife to his throat. She had a big shit-eating grin on her face as she looked back up at him.

“Thank you, Hawke,” he said between gritted teeth, knowing how happy and smug it made her.

Hawke nodded at his frozen wound and smiled, “See Cullen? Mages aren’t so bad! It really is a shame you were helping to eradicate them back in Kirkwall! Really glad you came around eventually...”

“I was NOT trying to kill all mages, I was simply following orders, and…” Cullen trailed off as they all heard two sets of quietly shuffling footsteps coming from the long, narrow tunnel. 

Barefeet. Elves. Possibly Dalish. This  _was_ a temple to one of their gods, after all.

Still, Hawke pushed the knife harder against the Venatori mage's neck, warning him to stay silent, and Evelyn stopped with the first aid, and stepped out in front of Cullen, ready to cover him.

“If I recall correctly, Ser Rutherford, they were the misguided commands of a paranoid madwoman, her mind poisoned by red lyrium…”

Cullen's eyes lit up with recognition, and without explanation, he hurried to defend himself. "Nobody _knew_ about the red lyrium, and if I'm to be held responsible for Meredith, then surely, you lot have to claim _some_ culpability with Anders!"

“Fenris?” Hawke's mouth had been hanging open since the first notes of his familiar drawl had greeted them from the corridor, and it had taken her a moment to recover from the shock of actually seeing him _here_. 

She jumped up now, completely forgetting she was meant to be guarding a prisoner. The mage tried to get up, but was tied up so tightly he couldn’t do much more than writhe helplessly on the floor. So he just yelled in frustrated terror, as Hawke ran to Fenris and threw her arms around him, nearly knocking him over.

Cullen made his way over to them as well, a severe-looking frown on his face as he stuck out a hand for him to shake. "And if _I_ recall correctly, Fenris, YOU would’ve been quite alright if all the mages of the world wound up dead or locked up, until Hawke and your ridiculous group of degenerate friends somehow managed to change your mind.”

“Oh! Hello Cullen, it’s lovely to see you again, too,” sang a familiar lilting voice behind them. "Though I admit this is a rather strange place to run into you. Are you all making an offering to the god of secrets?"

“Merrill!” Hawke squealed, freeing poor Fenris to smirk knowingly at Cullen as they grasped hands fondly, and throwing her arms around Merrill instead.

Cullen blushed, feeling a little bad for having lumped the little elven woman in with them as a so-called 'degenerate.' He had always known Merrill to be as kind and sweet and helpful as anyone in Kirkwall. An apostate, sure, whom he had to turn a blind eye to on numerous occasions, as she wandered aimlessly around town, seemingly clueless about the numerous risks of doing so in a city like Kirkwall, but she had never given him any reason to see her as a menace the way Hawke and the others often had.

Varric pulled Evelyn forward to introduce her to them while Bull hung back watching the interactions with an amused grin on his face. “Rifty, this is Daisy and Broody, just a couple more of our _degenerate_ friends. Guys, this is Inquisitor Evelyn Trevelyan.”

Fenris nodded respectfully, while Merrill beamed at her, rocking back and forth on her heels excitedly. “Oh, Inquisitor! We’ve heard so much about you! From Varric, of course, and Hawke, and...well, from everyone else, as well!”

“Please, Evelyn is fine,” she said, turning and frowning back at Varric for the unnecessary formalities.

“Or Trevevelyn,” Hawke laughed, one arm still wrapped around Merrill’s shoulders.

“Please, Hawke. No,” Evelyn said, rolling her eyes, but her mood had been improved somehow, in spite of Cullen’s injury, which would eventually require more than just a few elfroot potions and ice. Still, she smiled, just a little, allowing herself to enjoy the rush and relief of the last fight that had flooded her with enough endorphins to overcome the sense of dread and forget the pain of her mark that had been settling over her for the past couple of weeks.

Bull cleared his throat, interrupting the reunion and introductions. “Guys, what are we doing with _him_?” he asked, pointing at the prisoner, still trying to worm his way to freedom.

“Right! Let me deal with him. He might know something about Dorian,” Cullen said, still wishing to play the part of Commander, it seemed. Or perhaps wishing to escape anymore discussion of his past. Or Evelyn's doting.

…

While Cullen proceeded to question the Venatori rogue, the others took their time looking through the remaining treasures and catching up with one another. This had, of course, quickly devolved into bickering, particularly between Hawke and Fenris.

“But Fenris, it’s so _boring_ in Kirkwall now…”

“I should think you have yourself to thank for that. And Varric. And Aveline. And Bethany and Merrill…”

“Don’t forget Orana! And _Donnic_! And even Seneschal Bran…” Hawke groaned. “Yes, everyone’s been doing their part to rebuild the city! But the point being that there are plenty of people looking after Kirkwall now. And not nearly as many murderous mobs of blood mages or Templars or Qunari -- no offense, Bull…”

“Ha! None taken!” he called out from one of the bookshelves nearby where he’d been perusing some ancient Tevinter texts pre-dating the Qun on the so-called ‘Kossith races’ with amusement.

“And so...when Varric mentioned he was headed off to pay Skyhold a visit, it’s not like I could actually resist tagging along.” She nudged Fenris gently with her hip, grinning apologetically, even though he knew she wasn’t sorry at all. “Especially without _you_ there acting as my impulse control.”

“I tried. Maker knows I _tried_ to sneak away without her noticing…” Varric pleaded his case. "But she's so fucking nosey! And sneaky..."

Fenris’ eyes still narrowed on him. He knew it wasn’t his fault at all. But it’s not like he could glare at Hawke. She’d wink or smile or give him a _look_ , and he wasn’t done being pissed off.

“Don’t be mad at _him_! I literally camped out outside his estate, then followed him to the Docks, and stowed away on the ship he was taking!”

“Which was ridiculous, seeing as you could’ve easily afforded just to commission a whole ship for your own private excursion across the Waking Sea,” Varric noted.

“It was more fun this way!” Hawke grinned.

Varric nodded approvingly. “True…” 

Fenris finally just rolled his eyes at them and sighed in resignation. He knew he was fighting a losing battle caught between the two of them.

“I’m glad you came,” she whispered, leaning against him, and batting her eyelashes. 

He knew this was about as much of an apology as he was probably going to get. And _she_ knew he couldn’t resist her piercing ultramarine eyes looking at him like this, anymore than she could bear to stay away from a chaotic mess. And at least they were together again. The weeks away from her had been hard for him, too, after being together on the run for so long, but Hawke had lots of official matters in Kirkwall now to deal with, and, in spite of her special talents as a skilled and experienced rogue, her fame (or infamy) would’ve made her more of a liability than he was willing to risk as he, Merrill, Zevran, and Isabela worked to undermine the slave trade that fed Tevinter’s endless need for more and more human property.

“Oh!” Hawke pulled her eyes regrettably away from his, which she found equally irresistible, and looked around frantically. “ _And_ I’m so glad you brought Merrill!”

“Yes! I’m here!” Merrill called out from one of the alcoves on an upper balcony. She was inspecting a tall ornately-decorated mirror, tapping it lightly, and tilting her ear toward the glass, careful not to lean too much of herself against it.

“We’re all glad, Daisy! I’m sure you will make an excellent addition to our little search and rescue party!”

“Who are we looking for again?” the little elf woman asked, sounding a little preoccupied.

“Some flashy ‘Vint brat…” Fenris growled.

“You’ll love him, Merrill,” Hawke shouted up to her. “He has a magnificent mustache!”

...

After a half hour of questioning, Cullen was tired, frustrated, weakened by his thawing injury, and he’d gotten nowhere in his attempts at interrogating the Venatori they had taken captive.

“Commander, mind if I have a crack at this ‘Vint bastard?” Bull asked, graciously relieving Cullen so he could rest and have Evelyn take another look at his wound.

“He’s all yours, Bull,” Cullen sighed, throwing his hands up in defeat.

“Let’s take it from the top, then,” Bull said, as he pulled up a large old trunk to sit on, putting him face-to-face with the rogue whom Cullen had helped to stand without removing any of the ties Hawke had restrained him with. “Tell me what you know about Dorian Pavus.”

“The Pavus boy is an idealistic fool! Worse than his father,” the man hissed. “He and that cross-dressing Tilani brat would have all of Tevinter stripped of its greatness if they continue to gain anymore influence within the Magisterium.”

“Yeah, yeah...we already know he likes to strip things down and ruin them, and the dwarf with the crossbow over there happens to consider Maevaris Tilani family.” He nodded toward Varric, who had suddenly taken an interest in their conversation. “So best not to speak ill of her, either.”

“How can the Inquisition demean itself by allying with such low-breeding filth?! I suppose I should not be surprised, since the Inquisitor keeps a disgusting ox-man as her bodyguard.” He spat, careful to miss Bull by a few inches.

But Bull just laughed, a deep booming bellow. “You think that shit’s gonna faze me? Tell me what you’ve done with Dorian or I’ll impale you with one of these _dragon_ horns.” He smiled ruefully.

“Nothing!” the rogue insisted, sounding a little more desperate. “We’re only here for the artifacts. They are our right, as the true conquerors of Arlathan!” He was beginning to sound hysterical again, clinging even tighter to his beliefs about his own superiority even as he stood there, tied up and completely at the mercy of someone he considered to be a lower form of life.

“Look at me!” Bull demanded. “Do I look like I give a shit about old Elvhen junk? You’d better have something more useful to tell me, or I’m bringing in the Inquisitor. And _she_ isn’t nearly as  _nice_ as I am…”

As he said it, almost as if they’d planned this, Evelyn strode over from where she’d been inspecting Cullen’s wound, a displeased look on her face. Her good mood had already begun to dissipate.

“Oh, shit, man...too late! Here she comes. And she looks _pissed_.”

“Anything?” she asked Bull, ignoring the rogue as he continued to struggle ineffectually to free himself enough to reach for one of the daggers they both knew he kept tucked into his boots.

He shook his head with feigned regret. “I tried, Boss, but this fool can’t even come up with a convincing lie about where Dorian might be to save himself. I thought _rogues_ were supposed to be better at telling stories?”

Varric smiled and chuckled to himself as he walked away, knowing what was most likely coming next for the poor guy.

Evelyn pulled her staff out nonchalantly and sighed.

“Wait! I think I remembered something...about...an assassin...yes! One of the Magisters hired him. From Antiva! If you loosened these ties, maybe...”

“Got a name?” Bull asked skeptically.

“No...errr...hang on...let me think. It’s very hard, you know, being tied up like an _animal_ …”

“ENOUGH” shouted Evelyn, and pointed her staff at the prisoner. “He doesn’t know anything. We’re done wasting our time here.” And with that, a bolt flew from her staff and the man fell back down to the ground, dead.

...

By the time they left the ruins, the sun had already begun to set, but they all agreed to push themselves on to Val Chevin, where they might be able to spend at least a couple hours resting in the comfort of actual beds. They arrived exhausted at the inn in the middle of the night, but were welcomed by the bleary-eyed innkeeper, who brought them some food and fresh water to wash up in before bidding them all good night. 

By morning, Evelyn’s mood had completely soured again at their lack of information and progress. She had nearly forgotten about Cullen’s wound, until Merrill inquired about it over breakfast. Unfortunately, the innkeeper informed them that the town healer, a former apostate that had been protected by the grateful townsfolk whenever the Templars used to come marching through, had gone to Cumberland to train with the College of Enchanters.

After looking over Cullen's wound, which he assured her would be fine for now with a fresh set of bandages and another blast of ice, Evelyn insisted they get back on the road after a hurried breakfast before the sun had fully risen above the horizon.

...

“Did we bring a healer that can take a look at that knife wound, Cullen?” Hawke wrinkled her nose in disgust. “It’s starting to smell bad.”

“It’s this... _thing_...Merrill put on it,” Cullen groaned. He was looking pale and sweaty and whatever Merrill had done in the name of ‘Dalish first aid' at their last stop for rest was clearly not working.

“A _poultice_ ,” Merrill chimed in. “It’s a poultice...” 

“ _Putrid_ , I believe, is the word you are looking for,” Hawke said, trying to make light of the situation, but still looking concerned.

“I couldn’t find any elfroot, like the Keeper used to use, so I tried rashvine and some mud from that little creek we passed by instead.”

Hawke spurned her horse forward, trotting up next to Evelyn’s, and leaned over, almost whispering, “We really should find him a real healer. Merrill’s sweet, but…”

“I can still hear you, you know!”

“It’s just that, the uhh -- the poison. Seems especially nasty. I mean...look at him.”

Evelyn turned to where she expected Cullen to be riding directly behind her, but he’d fallen further back, with Bull and Fenris and Varric riding on either side and behind him just to make sure he kept on top of his horse. He smiled weakly at her and tried to wave, but nearly lost his balance in the process. Evelyn decided it was time to take another break.

After fussing over and refreezing Cullen’s wound, which had begun to turn a sickly shade of dark green, she walked over to where Hawke and the others were standing, awkwardly waiting for her to decide what to do about her quickly-decompensating husband. 

“I’m sure there are plenty of competent healers at the College of Enchanters,” she said, trying to convince herself as much as them that everything was going to be fine. “He’ll be riding with me for the remainder of the journey. Bull, can you tie his horse to yours?”

“Aye, Boss!”

“Do you really think he has another full day of travel left in him?” Hawke asked her, while the others began packing up and Bull went to fetch Cullen's mount and help him onto Evelyn's horse.

“The Venatori use a vicious poison, augmented by magic,” Fenris offered, helpfully. “It could kill him in less than a day if he hasn't built up any resistance to it. Or turn him into a thrall if the mage who enchanted that weapon was using blood magic…” he added, a bit less helpfully.

Evelyn fixed them both with a desperate look. “Well, what do you suggest, then?!”

“So, um...this is gonna seem like a crazy idea…” Hawke muttered.

Varric looked curiously over at his friend.

“You know about my cousin, Solona Amell, the Hero of Ferelden…”

“Yes, Hawke. We _all_ know.”

“Well, so, when I was at Weisshaupt, after all the, y’know…” She wiggled her hands in front of her face, attempting to look like some kind of spider. “She might have mentioned she’d tried to track down Anders after he...well...you know…” She made an explosion sound and spread her fingers wide.

“Yes…”

“And, well, she told me that he was living in some caves not far from here,” she finally blurted out.

“No,” Fenris said bluntly.

“But…”

“How far?” Evelyn asked, her eyes wide, then added, “We can’t afford any more delays.”

“Not very! I can go search the caves! And the rest of you can continue on the road, and if I don’t find him, I’ll catch up with you all at Cumberland.”

Fenris was glaring at her. “Absolutely not.”

“I’ll go with you!” Merrill chirped, bouncing up and down beside them. “It’ll be so nice to see Anders! And we can search faster if there’s two of us.”

“I’m kind of with Broody on this one,” Varric said. “Do you really wanna see Blondie again, Hawke? You two didn’t exactly part on the best of terms. And it’s been almost five years...”

“I don’t know what you could possibly mean, Varric! _I_ wasn’t the one who told him if I ever saw him again, I’d tear out his heart.” She looked pointedly at Fenris, who continued to look increasingly furious at the mere suggestion of seeking out their old friend.

“He’s the best healer I've ever known,” Merrill admitted sheepishly. “Way better than I am, anyway.”

“Go find him.” Evelyn nodded determinedly. “Please?” She directed this last part toward Fenris, sensing a kindred lack of patience for foolishness within him. But this wasn’t foolishness. This was for Cullen.

It was her turn to be glared at by the scowling elf. He held her, fixed in his stony gaze for what felt like forever, but her pleading eyes didn’t waver.

“Fine,” he finally muttered. “But I’m going, too.”

“And Bianca and I will join you three, I guess,” Varric sighed and patted his crossbow before slinging it over his shoulder and hopping up onto his horse. “To keep the peace. Just like old times…”

“Oh, how fun!” Merrill clapped. “Do you suppose Anders has grown a beard? I would love to see him in a beard!”

“We can only _hope_ , Daisy…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to anyone who was looking forward to a canon run through the Temple of Dirthamen! Basically, Evelyn doesn't have time for side quests. Also, assuming this is after Inquisition, these fools are super overpowered for any normal enemies, so bad guys watch out!


	6. The Double Agent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and Alarion begin their travels to Skyhold, when Dorian discovers a game changing secret about Alarion.

“It feels damn good to be getting out of Tevinter,” Dorian said triumphantly, riding on the Imperial Warmblood Evelyn had insisted he take with him when he officially moved back home. Prior to joining the Inquisition, he had only ridden a horse a handful of times, usually drunk, relying on carriages for most of his transportation needs in Tevinter. But Evelyn had proven to be an excellent riding instructor, her methods relying mostly on ridiculing his poor form and technique until he had figured out how to become a passable rider on his own.

“Tevinter really isn’t _that_ bad, Dorian…” Alarion rolled his eyes, trying not to stare with such a goofy grin at his handsome employer sitting statuesque atop his horse, if not a bit stiff. Dorian’s good mood would have been contagious if Alarion hadn’t had so many things weighing so heavily on his mind.

“For you maybe, but for me, Tevinter will always be the place where the privileged pat each other on the back for being born to the right parents, while the poor do everything for them.”

Dorian was certainly making it easier for Alarion to remember _his_ purpose for being here, at least, with his ignorant assumptions and obnoxiously grand declarations against social injustices he himself had only benefited from.

Alarion sighed. “Your mother _can_ be a lot, but it’s not so bad for you, either, really...being among the _privileged_. Or had you forgotten your last name is Pavus, and that you are a Magister, a position you inherited from your father?” 

“This _father_ you speak of once tried to use blood magic to change me...to make me like women. And my _mother_ continues to hold out hope that it may yet work.” He tightened his grip on his horse’s reins, and she stamped her feet, impatiently awaiting his direction. “It truly _is_ that bad.”

“Shit…”

“Yes. Shit, indeed.” Dorian laughed coldly, turning his horse away from the stream where they’d stopped for water and a short rest, and headed back up toward the main road.

“So, Skyhold, then...how do you suggest we get there?” Alarion asked, catching up to him on his own Dalish All-Bred, and hoping a change in subject might be welcome.

“We’ll have to take the long way around, by land. Kirkwall is still a mess after that idiot blew up the Chantry, triggering the war. They’ve never really liked anyone from Tevinter much anyway in Kirkwall, and certainly not Magisters, but the potential for trouble isn't worth the entertainment that a visit with the Champion and Master Tethras would undoubtedly provide for us.” 

Dorian smiled to himself, recalling some raucous times with the two inseparable rogues from Kirkwall. Then he sighed wistfully. “You’ll have to meet them some other time.”

“Hmmm...yes. And your desire to avoid crossing the Sea from Kirkwall doesn’t have anything to do with your sea-sickness, does it?”

“Don’t be absurd!”

“We could take the newly-rebuilt Imperial Highway bridge, then, across the Waking Sea?” Alarion offered. “It will certainly cut down on the amount of time we spend traveling.”

“What’s the rush? Orlais is a magnificent place minus the occasional Venatori outpost, left over rifts, remnants of the Civil War, and horrific, overdone fashion…”

“I just thought you’d want to see your friends sooner?”

“ _And_ spend some quality time with _you_!”

“I’m looking forward to spending some time with you, too, Dorian,” he groaned. “But there are a lot of things out here that make my _job_ a bit more difficult. The sooner we get to Skyhold, the easier it will be for me to actually _enjoy_ our time together.”

“Shall I fire you, then? I don’t need a bodyguard for this trip. I need a traveling companion.”

“I actually charge quite a bit more for companionship, if you’re going to add that to my job description.” Alarion winked.

“Then just consider this a vacation from your bodyguard duties. Paid, of course.”

“I don’t believe an employer is meant to tell their employees where to go on their vacation, or who to spend it with.”

“Fine! I’ll just travel alone to Skyhold, then, and I’ll take my own sweet fucking time.”

“You will do no such thing!” Alarion sounded a bit panicked at this, which pleased Dorian more than he cared to admit. He took a deep breath, composed himself a little, then muttered, ”Look, just don’t blame me if you end up with an assassin’s arrow in your face because I got distracted by your...charms.”

“It’s a deal,” Dorian was grinning. “So long as it’s not _your_ arrow in my face.”

“I’ll try my best.” Alarion finally matched his impish grin, and Dorian’s smile spread further.

“On second thought, feel free to put it wherever you’d like.”

Alarion groaned again, rolling his eyes and urging his own horse out ahead.

…

As they traveled south through Nevarra, Dorian shared more and more about his childhood and his family, the burden of such high expectations that led him to rebel and get kicked out of every fancy school his parents sent him to until he wound up being pulled from the gutter by Gereon Alexius. He told him about finding a new purpose in devoting himself to the research of time magic, in the hopes that he might be able to distinguish himself as something other than the fortunate inheritor of his parents’ social status. Until, of course, he realized what Alexius was so driven to use it for. Which is what led him to the Inquisition, and the experiences that drove him now to root out the corrupting influences in Tevinter that had fed Alexius’ delusions.

Alarion offered as much about his own life as he could without revealing his connection to the Pavus estate. He confided that he hadn’t always lived among the Dalish, as he had allowed Dorian’s mother to assume when she first hired him. That he had once lived with a noble family, the child of slaves, whose parents had died, leaving him as an orphan. He half-hoped Dorian might put the pieces together, to fill in the large, incriminating blanks he was leaving, but he just listened and accepted what he chose to share with a sympathetic desire to understand. Which made Alarion all the more uneasy about his growing predicament.

As they made their way toward Cumberland, Dorian finally began to sense Alarion’s unease. He assumed it was just more of his usual hesitation, more concern and paranoia as they prepared to encounter civilization again.

“Do I need to remind you that you’re not on duty as my bodyguard?”

“Hmmm...what?” Alarion had been staring intensely into a patch of forest ahead of them.

“The Pentaghast family has seen to it for generations that brigands and dragons alike have been eradicated from this stretch of the Imperial Highway. I know Seeker Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena Pentaghast, seventy-eighth in line to the throne, personally, and if the rest of her family are anything like her, we have nothing to worry about here.”

“Yes, I’m sure the road is quite safe for _most_ travelers…”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Do you know something I don’t about Nevarra being a notorious hideout for Venatori assassins?”

Alarion finally looked away from the forest and turned toward him with an exasperated huff. “Fine. What is it you wanted to talk about, then? As traveling _companions_...?”

“Nothing. I just want you to appreciate the beauty of the landscape instead of scanning it for non-existent threats. It’s so much greener this side of the Minanter!”

“Can’t I do both?”

“Not at the same time…”

...

But Dorian continued to notice Alarion’s growing discomfort as they traveled further and further out of Tevinter, and it was beginning to bother him. He had always known Alarion to take time to himself, and he certainly didn’t want to smother him or forbid him from his precious alone time, but he couldn’t help but notice that he’d begun disappearing into the forest every time they stopped for a rest, and, in spite of his insistence that he abandon his guard duties, he continued his nighttime ‘patrols,’ even sneaking off when he thought Dorian was asleep, for longer and longer periods of time.

For the first two weeks of leisurely travel, Dorian kept quiet, guessing that Alarion was just being his usual over-thinking, over-protective self, but eventually, his patience wore thin and his curiosity became unbearable. On one of his nightly patrols, Dorian decided to follow him.

They set up camp together and Dorian started the fire, following the usual routine of prepping dinner while Alarion was gone. He watched Alarion gather his bow and arrows, and casually kissed him goodbye. 

Alarion set off, heading north, towards some mountains, while Dorian trailed quietly and invisibly behind him, utilizing the Ring of Doubt which Evelyn had given to him after their adventures in the Exalted Plains. The walk was treacherous, and it became evident to Dorian very quickly that there was no patrolling, or even casual wandering going on, and he suddenly became anxious. What was Alarion up to?

Alarion finally stopped after about 40 minutes of walking and sat on a rock, facing Dorian, about 50 feet ahead of him. He froze as Alarion pulled out a message crystal and began whispering into it. He realised he wouldn’t be able to hear unless he got closer and began to quietly make his way around so he could eavesdrop from behind.

As he got closer, he was able to make out some of the conversation, and whoever Alarion was talking to did NOT sound happy.

“He was meant to stay in Tevinter...where our people could keep track of things.”

“I know, but once he gets an idea in his head, he just does it! I’m only his guard. I can’t control him..."

"And why haven't you headed directly to Skyhold?"

"I tried to tell him it was too dangerous. But he insists that --”

“This is extremely disappointing. This changes everything.”

“I…what do you mean?”

“Our plans have changed. We cannot help you if your loyalties have been compromised. You were not placed there to befriend him. Your assistance is no longer needed.”

Alarion gasped. “What? Why?”

The crystal began to vibrate in Alarion’s hands and then there was a loud POP! as it cracked down the middle. Alarion began cursing in a mix of Elvhen and Tevene to himself. Dorian felt overcome with rage and stomped out of the brush behind him, slipping his ring back into his robes and holding his staff out.

“Who were you just talking to?”

“You followed me?!”

It was unclear which of them felt more betrayed as Alarion stared back at him, his eyes glowing with matching anger in the moonlight.

“Of course I did! You’ve been acting more and more suspicious by the day! I’ve seen more trustworthy people than _you_ do worse things. So tell me, _who_ were you speaking to?”

“It’s…it’s none of your fucking business! Not everything I do revolves around you...” he sputtered.

“Bullshit! Then who is ‘him’ and what are you hiding?” Dorian snapped, the light coming from his staff becoming brighter as he got angrier and he began pulling energy from the Fade without even realizing it.

Alarion tried to walk away, to end the conversation, but Dorian trapped him with Static Cage, and stormed up to him.

“I trusted you!”

Alarion drew his bow, a hint of fear in his eyes as Dorian stepped closer. He had never looked more like a Magister than he did now, wielding his staff threateningly at one of his most trusted servants for daring to defy him.

“TELL ME!!!” Dorian roared in his face as the prison of lightning licked at his robes, allowing him alone to cross the barrier.

Alarion tried to back away from him, but he knew stepping into the static electricity would leave him paralyzed. He was trapped.

“It’s nothing!” he shouted desperately. “I check in with the other guards in Tevinter and people aren’t happy you went off! They are blaming me!”

The prison of lightning suddenly dissipated, and Alarion staggered and fell backward, looking up at him like a wounded halla.

Dorian rushed forward, dropping to his knees. “Why wouldn’t you just tell me something like that?”

“I didn’t want to tell you because you hate it when I do guard duties around you,” Alarion muttered, an injured tear rolling down his cheek. “And because you have no right following me and spying! I’ve done nothing but protect you and your mother from every possible threat! I don’t deserve _this_ ,” he hissed, his face suddenly twisting back into outrage as he looked down at the ground in between them.

Dorian put his hands on Alarion’s face, lifting it back up to look at him. “I’m sorry, Alarion...” he whispered, searching his eyes for forgiveness he knew he didn’t deserve. “It’s just that...no. It doesn’t matter what other people have done. You’re right. I have no excuses. I’m sorry for not trusting you.” 

“I’m fine,” Alarion said, pulling Dorian’s hands slowly down from his face. “Just...next time you’re mad, please don’t use your magic on me?” He smiled wryly. “It’s not a good look for someone claiming to be trying to right the wrongs of Tevinter to go around trapping their elven servants in cages of lightning.”

Dorian winced. “You’re right. Yeah. I promise.”

They made their way back down the mountain, which was far harder for Dorian as it had gotten dark. His magelight could not compare to Alarion’s night vision. He also complained that he was starving numerous times, and each time he was told with a smug grin that it was his punishment for spying. 

As they got to the campsite and settled in, Dorian began cooking dinner for real this time. Nug, for the fourth time this week, picked off easily by Alarion on the way down the mountain, since neither wanted to go through the effort of skinning anything larger and having to haul the meat around with them. Dorian made a few comments about how the thought of resorting to eating the small cave-dwelling rodents had been horrifying to him before the Inquisition’s adventures in the Deep Roads had opened his eyes to the many different ways to prepare them. Like Dwarven ale, it was something he cherished now for its anti-Tevinterness, though he would never openly admit in public.

After a surprisingly filling and delicious meal, the two sat in silence for awhile, staring into the fire, while Alarion stewed in his thoughts about the mess he and Dorian were in. Hoping to avoid any more questions about the conversation Dorian had overheard up in the mountains, he decided to break the silence this time, and get Dorian chatting more about the Inquisition.

“So,” he said, scooting closer to Dorian. “Tell me about these friends that you insist I _have_ to meet.”

Dorian’s mustache quirked up at the side, a surefire sign that he was eager to spill some salacious details about his favorite people. “What would you like to know?”

“Might as well start with your _best_ friend, the Inquisitor.”

“Ah, Evelyn…” Dorian sighed, smiling into the fire. “A wonderful woman and formidable opponent. I trust her with my life.”

“I’d expect nothing less from the woman who took down ‘The Elder One.’”

“Exactly. She was there for me during a very uncertain time in my life. When we first met, Alexius was out of control. She took a chance in trusting me when she had no reason to. We saw a terrible future together. Everyone she knew and trusted dead, red lyrium everywhere…”

“Is that our future?” Alarion asked, eyes wide. He hadn’t really seen the effects of red lyrium firsthand, only heard horrific tales from the Free Marches and Ferelden, where the Red Templars and the Venatori had nearly overrun the entire kingdom if it hadn’t been for the Inquisition’s _timely_ intervention. 

“No. We changed that future and we certainly wouldn’t be talking right now if we hadn’t.”

“She sounds intimidating.” 

“Not at all! Respectable, sure, but she knows how to have fun. She’s from a noble Free Marcher family, but, being a mage in the wrong part of the world, she was sent away to live in the Circle in Ostwick from a young age. She didn’t really get too spoiled by a life of luxury and privilege the way _some_ of us have been.” He looked apologetically at Alarion for a moment. “And she made her husband, Cullen, infinitely more interesting than his old tortured, brooding self. Though I still like to stir him up sometimes...just to see how red I can turn his round Fereldan face.”

“Cullen...he’s the Templar, right? The Inquisition’s Commander?”

“You seem to know quite a bit about them all already! Why am _I_ doing all the talking?”

“Well, these _are_ the people who ‘saved the world’ and ‘fixed the hole in the sky,’” Alarion mused, paranoia suddenly returning within him. “But I only know what everyone else does…”

“I’ll have you know that Cullen was an _ex_ -Templar by the time I met him. He went cold turkey on the lyrium, too. I still can’t believe he tried to keep that a secret from Evelyn, the idiot. And he put _Cassandra_ in charge of his recovery! He was insufferable those first few months...would lose his shit whenever he lost at chess. But we kept playing. I knew it gave him something to distract him.”

“Oh, how very kind of you, Dorian. I’m sure you derived _no_ joy out of besting a weak, suffering man, a former Templar, no less, at chess.” 

“I don’t know what you’re implying. He was a challenging match, even during his worst periods of withdrawal! Our record was tied by the time I left, though I do suspect he let me win a few times to keep it that way.”

“Didn’t he support Meredith against the mages in Kirkwall? That must’ve made things...interesting...when the Inquisition decided to ally itself with the rebel mages.”

“Yes, well…” Dorian sighed. “He takes his job, whatever it may be, quite seriously. The man gets tunnel vision. Not unlike _some_ people I know…” Another pointed glance toward Alarion. “But he sided with Hawke and her friends against the Knight-Commander in the end, which was a big deal for him. He’s a _good_ man, not necessarily a smart one. And he treats Evelyn better than anyone, except for maybe his dog...the wretched creature.” 

“You don’t like dogs?”

“Dogs are perfectly fine, when they aren’t slobbering all over you like Pup tends to do. I had a dog as a child, you know? One of the runts of Mother’s sister’s prize-winning litters. She wanted to cull him, but I begged to take him in. His name was Prince Harry Balsagna, Esquire, a hilarious play on words, I thought, at the age of seven. We usually just called him Hambone, after his favorite treat. He was almost as useless as Cullen’s mabari, but he was bred to be less slobbery, and better-trained.”

“Besides the dog, is there anyone else from the Inquisition worth mentioning?”

“Sera! She’s an elf like you. A city elf. Though she doesn’t ‘get’ the Dalish, she says, or magic, even though she seems to have a knack for it, without actually _being_ a mage.”

“An ‘elf like me,’ hmmmm…?” Alarion comically raised an eyebrow at him, in feigned offense.

“No! I mean that she’s...good with a bow and arrow! Maybe even _better_ than you...” Dorian laughed as Alarion crossed his arms, unimpressed. “She’s a Red Jenny, they're a network of ‘little people’ committed to fucking with those who abuse their wealth and power that operate in Orlais and the Free Marches, mostly, though I suppose they’ve expanded into Ferelden by now. She might even be their leader, though I don’t suspect they really have a traditional power structure.”

Alarion knew of the Red Jennys. Their operations often overlapped or intersected with his own organization’s. He knew that they had expanded into Minrathous, as well, and he tried not to allow the flash of recognition show in his face, but Dorian noticed it, and assumed he was concerned Dorian or his family might’ve been one of their targets.

“I won’t tell you another thing about her...you should have the full delight of meeting her in person! I just hope she isn’t off stuffing bees into some Orlesian jackass’ trousers while we’re at Skyhold!”

A shit-eating grin had spread across Dorian’s face, an attempt at reassuring whatever doubt had crossed his companion’s mind, before he recalled that Sera wasn’t the _only_ elf that had been a part of the Inquisition.“Oh! There’s also Solas...an elven apostate. Not Dalish, though, either. I made that mistake once, and got quite the cold response. He was _very_ into the Fade, and his expertise proved invaluable to us.”

That name _felt_ familiar, though Alarion couldn’t recall having ever heard anyone going by it mentioned before. “Interesting name...it means _Pride_ , in Elvhen. But perhaps he was named after the place?”

Dorian shook his head. “I never got around to asking him. He mostly kept to himself. He left the Inquisition right after we defeated Corypheus and we’ve not been able to find him. Not even Leliana or her extensive network of spies have a clue where he went. My guess is that he fell asleep in a cave somewhere and has been Dreaming in the Fade ever since.”

“Why did he leave?”

“I truly don’t know,” Dorian sighed. “He was mysterious. And boring. Anyone else you’d like to know about?” 

“What about the Qunari mercenary? I’ve heard rumors he was half-dragon. I mean, not that that’s possible, but…”

Dorian’s whole body suddenly went rigid as he sat up straighter, not expecting his old love to be brought up.

“I’m sorry. Did you not get along? I guess that makes sense, since the Imperium is constantly at war with the Qunari...”

“No. Quite the contrary, actually.” Dorian laughed a little, nervously. “Bull and I...we were together for a time. We were an odd couple, but a good one, I think…” he trailed off.

“You two were _together_?” Alarion didn’t sound hurt so much as he sounded surprised. “You’ve never mentioned I might have to meet your ex-boyfriend on this leisurely little ‘vacation’ of ours…”

“Well, I am now, aren’t I?”

“Yes, I suppose now is better than during our first introduction.”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Imagine how that could’ve gone…”

Alarion puffed out his chest and began waving his hand around, speaking in his best Dorian voice. “Yes, hello, this is my new, much smaller, much more elfy boyfriend, Alarion, a hired guard...and Alarion, this is my giant, hulking, horned ex-lover who also happens to be a sworn enemy of my people, and probably has a dozen reasons to want me dead! I’m sure you’ll both get along swimmingly!”

Dorian snorted. “He insisted on being called _THE_ Iron Bull, and he and his men did this idiotic thing with their hands, and they’d shout ‘horns up!’ and...it was all dreadful.”

“I’m sure you loved it,” Alarion smiled. “He sounds pretty unique for a Qunari. I’ve never met any who actually get to choose a _name_ for themselves.”

“Well, he was technically Tal-Vashoth. His ties to the Qun, to the Ben-Hassrath, were severed when he chose his men and the Inquisition over the Qunari.”

“Why did you part?”

“He wouldn’t come with me to Tevinter, and I certainly wasn’t about to join his mercenary group, the Chargers! Then I’d have to do the thing! With the hands...just...no. Absolutely not.”

Dorian stared ahead of him thoughtfully as their amusement subsided. Talking about Bull still hurt, even if he’d found someone to love in Alarion. He tried his best to not think about him, how poorly they both had treated each other at the end. He hoped that Bull wouldn’t be there when he got to Skyhold, hopefully off on some mission with the Chargers instead, because that was a can of worms he wasn’t ready to open yet.

Dorian felt Alarion nudge him out of his thoughts, trying to get his attention without making a sound.

“Dorian,” he whispered. “Put the fire out now, someone is out there.”

Dorian put the fire out immediately with a barrier spell and tried to peer through the darkness.

“I count three to my left,” he whispered. “Two in the bushes and one up in a tree.”

“Yeah, same to my right,” Alarion confirmed. “Elves, judging by their glowing eyes…”

“Show yourselves!” Dorian called out, before Alarion could stop him or even jump protectively in front of him.

A tall elf with vine tattoos wrapping from his arms and ending on his face stepped out of the bushes. He held a bow aimed at them, and was well-armored.

“The vacation is over, Pavus. You should have stayed home where you were safe,” he said, a slight smile curling into one corner of his mouth.

“Shit, shit, SHIT!” Alarion hissed, his chest rising and falling far more rapidly than Dorian had ever seen the normally cool-headed elf. He looked like he was on the verge of a panic attack. “How could you have found us so quickly?!”

The tall elf looked a little puzzled by Alarion’s question. “You didn’t make it hard to find you. You barely covered your tracks.” 

He turned back to Dorian, “Unfortunately, this is it for you. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way.”

A haughty smile had spread across Dorian’s face. “The hard way, if you please. I’ve been ever so bored with all this calm.”

An arrow came flying past Dorian's ear from behind him and Alarion finally jumped into position, covering his back. Dorian began flinging purple lightning at the elf before he could even release his own bow, sending him flying backwards into the forest, while Alarion took out the archer behind them.

“Hit the elves in the trees!” Alarion shouted, “I’ll deal with the ones on the ground!”

Dorian laughed and surrounded him with a defensive barrier. “I can deal with both, you know…”

“Stop being such a cocky bastard and do it, then!” Alarion shouted, as he picked off another archer behind them.

The two parted and dealt with the rest of the assassins until only the leader remained, cowering behind a bush in the woods.

Alarion stomped up to him and held the dagger he kept in his belt to his throat. “Why?!” he demanded, but the elf just shrank away from him in fear.

“He probably won’t talk until I release him from the spell,” Dorian said, sidling up to the man with a strange look of admiration on his face. Whether it was for Alarion and his fearsome questioning, or for his own use of Terror to immobilize him, or some mixture of the two, it was impossible to tell.

He waved his hand, and the elf blinked, then looked up at them, snarling, “The Pavus son must die! There are more of us. We won’t stop, it is our command,” he said, coughing as he pressed his throat against Alarion’s dagger. Alarion slid his blade the rest of the way and put him out of his sputtering, bloody misery.

Alarion stood up slowly, turning toward Dorian with an odd look on his face. It was a mix of relief and shame and...something else. Fear? Still? Dorian had apologized for what had happened earlier that evening, and they’d just saved each other’s lives. What did Alarion still have to fear from him?

“I haven’t been truthful, but I need you to listen,” he whispered, taking one step toward him. “Please…”

Dorian took a step back, holding his staff a little more defensively. “What did you do, Alarion?”

There was no use trying to explain or sugarcoat anything. “I’m a spy... _was_ a spy. I was put to the task by a group. A network. I…I have no idea who the leader is, if there’s one leader or many, but we were trained and then strategically placed to watch various members of the Inquisition and other powerful people across Thedas. I was assigned to you.”

“Watch us? Why?”

“I don’t know what the bigger purpose is, if there even is one, but my job _was_ to keep you safe and to report information to my contact. I assumed it was just to keep track of what everyone was up to...”

“So this was all a trick…?” 

Realization was beginning to dawn on Dorian as his mind raced back through everything. The gaps in Alarion’s back story. The suspicious conversations. The sneaking away and the long, unnecessary ‘patrols,’ which he’d always just assumed were due to Alarion’s endearing over-protectiveness. His hesitation to abandon his guard duties, his painstaking ‘thoughtfulness.’ They were all just a part of his spy duties to this mysterious _network_.

But the most painful realization of all came last. “And us?!” Dorian’s eyes had begun to fill with hot, angry tears.

Alarion looked devastated at the effect this was having on him, but he knew there was nothing he could say to make it up to him. Still, he had to try. Their lives depended on it.

“No! Well, initially, I...played along. I thought it was just a game to you, anyway. Remember the night we met? I thought you were toying with me the way you toyed with that insufferable Orlesian noble!”

“Cyril is an ass, but at least he never lied to me!” A bittter tear rolled down his cheek, and Alarion saw no sign of the formidable Magister who’d raised his staff against him earlier. Just a profoundly heartbroken man trying desperately not to be.

“When I realized you weren’t just using me to piss off your mother or to stick it to Tevinter, and that I was growing fond of you, too...well, the more I fell for you, the less I shared with them, which has been…problematic. And now that I’ve allowed you to leave Tevinter...”

“Oh wow, thank you! I’m forever in your debt for being selective with which of my secrets you choose to share with your network of spies,” Dorian said sarcastically, raising his own wall of defenses to keep from breaking down completely.

“Dorian, please! I’ve made a mistake, and we’re not safe here,” Alarion’s voice was quickly rising into a panic. “That call back there, on the mountain. I think they called protection off of you.”

“I heard,” Dorian drawled, trying to look unimpressed at his fingernails.  

“I think that those elves may have worked for the organization and were coming to kill you, to kill us both! Because they consider me ‘compromised,’ or something. We need to hide!”

“You want ME to go into hiding with YOU, a _SPY_?!” Dorian said incredulously. “No thanks. I think I’ll take my chances and head to Skyhold.”

“You can’t! They’re probably waiting for you all along the road to Skyhold! You heard him. There are more of them coming. They won’t stop until you’re...dead.” Alarion swallowed, and tried to catch his breath, but he couldn’t stop his heart from feeling like it was beating right out of his chest.

Dorian was holding his staff so tightly in his other hand that his knuckles had turned white, betraying his facade of unaffectedness. He’d heard the leader of the mercenary group, seen how he looked almost possessed as he pressed himself into Alarion’s knife. He very well might have been some kind of blood magic thrall, and there wasn’t any reasoning with that kind of enemy. But going with Alarion? After what he’d just confessed?

“I’m going to contact Evelyn through the message crystal. She’ll be able to send help, and sort you out. The Skyhold dungeons _have_ been empty for awhile...I imagine she’d be happy to put them to good use.”

“I wish that were an option, believe me, but…you can’t, Dorian.”

“Hmm? And why not? Your spy network monitoring that, too?”

“The crystal I was using…it was yours. When they decided I was no longer useful, they overloaded it and it cracked down the middle. I doubt it’ll work now. Not without the type of repairs only a master craftsman could achieve.”

“Well you’ve really fucked us both, then, haven’t you?” He didn’t have it in him to correct Alarion and inform him that it was a master crafts _woman_ , specifically, a crafts _dwarf_ he had entrusted exclusively to create and repair his own precious message crystal. And that she was most likely all the way back in Skyhold.

“I’m sorry…” Alarion repeated, hopelessly.

“Anything else you need to share?” Dorian laughed bitterly. “Alexius fucked with time again and you’re here to take me back to him? My dead father hired you from the grave to spy on me as well?”

“I promise, this is it. We need to go, though. I can’t have you put in any more danger because of me...” he pleaded.

Dorian looked at him with a cruel and condescending glare. “Alarion, I don’t trust you. You’ve lied to my face today, after lying to me for months. I’m not just going to follow you to Maker-knows-where!”

Without another look at him, Dorian began gathering his things, deciding that it would be better to risk more murderous elves along the way to Skyhold than Alarion and his questionable motives. He couldn’t think straight with Alarion’s continued pleading and fretting behind him and he finally told him so, asking him to leave. He heard him stomping off into the forest, but he still didn’t bother to look up and see him off, hoping he might be able to hurry up and leave before he got back. He figured he could make his way quickly to Cumberland and from there, let Evelyn know of his situation. He’d have friends there, at least, people he could actually trust, and he could figure out the safest way to proceed while rooting out his would-be attackers with the help of the Inquisition’s resources and allies.

But as he stood up to untie his horse, he heard Alarion whisper from just above him in the trees, “I’m so sorry...” He felt something hit him with a hard thud on the back of his head, and then everything went blank.


	7. The Road to Cumberland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders does his best, Cole helps, and the search party makes their way toward Cumberland to check in with _former_ Grand Enchanter Fiona.

"You sure about this, Hawke?" Varric asked, as he disarmed the last of the crude mechanical traps that had been laid outside the cave as a final line of defense, or rather, a warning system, since none of them seemed particularly lethal to any unfortunate passersby. 

It hadn’t really been hard to find Anders at all. They recognized his wards and knew how to navigate them, and they all knew the _feel_ of his subtly powerful magic before they ever even saw any physical sign of him. 

"Yeah, my cousin said he’d be here. Said he seemed determined to live out the rest of his life alone and miserable."

"Probably the only thing he's ever been right about," Fenris muttered, reaching behind him and preparing to draw his sword as they heard someone shuffling toward them from the shadows of the wide-mouthed cavern ahead.

"Oh, poor Anders..." Merrill whispered, as a thin, hunched, raggedy-looking figure stepped out into the light at the entrance of the cave, his staff held out in front of him with one hand, while the other shielded his eyes from the blinding mid-day sun.

"Anders?" Hawke asked hesitantly, almost in disbelief, even though Solona had warned her the past few years had taken their toll on the man.

"Hello, Hawke..."

It was him. His voice, anyway. And as she peered at him a little more closely, she recognized his long, angular nose, his squinting amber eyes, though they were far more sunken in than she remembered them ever being, even when she and the others would have to force him to eat and into an actual bed to sleep at night back in Kirkwall.

"Well, you look like shit," she giggled awkwardly in her discomfort.

Anders eyed her appraisingly. "Well, you look...pretty much the exact same as you did five years ago." He almost sounded disappointed, until his eyes adjusted to the brightness and he could make out the finer details. “Oh! Except for that hideous scar on the side of your face.”

Hawke was fully laughing now. “It’s a funny story, actually...when Fen -- when _we_ were on the run in Ferelden, we got into a bit of a scrap with both the mages _and_ the Templars, even though I tried to explain that we were the good guys, you know? And then, well, we really could’ve used your skills afterwards to patch us up, but…”

"You know I hate to interrupt, but we told Rifty we'd meet back up with them as soon as we could..."

"Is that Varric? Never thought I’d see _you_ again!” He squinted behind Hawke. “And Merrill?!”

“Anders!” Merrill squealed, running to embrace him, and burying her face in his beard. “And your beard! It’s so...wonderfully scratchy and _rugged_!”

Anders laughed in spite of himself and wrapped his long lanky arms tight around the little elven woman, spinning her around like a child while Varric rolled his eyes. So much for hurrying this along...

Fenris cleared his throat impatiently. 

"Oh, sorry. Didn’t see you there, _Fenris_. But I suppose I should’ve known you’d be here, too. It’s not like you to leave Hawke’s shadow.”

Fenris scowled obligatorily at him. “You’re right. I would never willingly abandon my friends, or lie to or betray them, either.”

Anders sneered back at him, his eyes twinkling in wicked delight. As terrible as he looked, his face was still as animated as ever, even with the scraggly overgrown beard, and Fenris couldn’t hide the hint of a smile that crept across his own face.

Hawke cleared her throat. "Right, well, Anders, we, uhh...well, uh, _some_ of us, we have been working with the Inquisition."

"I'd heard the 'Champion of Kirkwall' had come out of hiding to help close the hole in the sky...but I thought that had already been dealt with? Corypheus and all that mess with the Templars and red lyrium you unearthed wrapped up rather conveniently for you by a desperate alliance between the remaining ‘rebel’ mages and some devoted Chantry ‘purists’ seeking to return it to its former glory..."

"Oh, you _heard_ , did you?” Hawke interrupted him, her patience and her tempered delight at seeing him alive, at least, wearing thin as he began to rant and remind her precisely why they’d parted ways. “Didn’t think of checking in to see how we were all faring after your little stunt scattered us all across Thedas?"

"What do you _want_ , Hawke?" he asked, growing suddenly impatient himself, as if he had so many more important things to do.

"My cousin told me..."

"Solona already offered me a place in the Wardens and I said no."

“That’s not --”

“The answer is still probably no.”

“Anders, it’s Cullen,” she huffed out, exasperated already by his stubbornness. This is exactly what Varric had tried to warn her about. “He got stabbed with a poisoned dagger and --”

“Cullen?!” Anders laughed derisively. “You’re working with _him_?! Maker, Hawke...he put your own _sister_ in the Gallows!”

“He’s different now. You _know_ he ultimately sided with us and the mages against Meredith and the Circle…we wouldn’t have won that fight without him and the others. And what happened in Kirkwall, and everything since, really _has_ changed him. He renounced the Order. He even stopped taking lyrium!”

“He really is much more pleasant than I remember him,” Merrill nodded. “And very sick. I tried to help, but…” She shrugged.

Anders waved his hand dismissively. “I’ve heard enough. Take him to the mages at Cumberland. They’re indebted to the Inquisition, aren’t they? After Fiona nearly sold them off to Tevinter...” he trailed off, grumbling more to himself now as he turned and retreated back into the shadows of the cave, waving his staff to reset his wards.

“I told you this would be a waste of time, Hawke,” Varric said as he slung Bianca back behind him.

“Anders!” Hawke shouted after him, her own desperate voice echoing back to her from the depths of the cavern. “There’s a person in desperate need of medical attention and you are the only one who can help him!”

He stopped, and turned back slowly to face them. They all expected to see Justice glowing through him, ready to defend his position, but all they saw in his eyes was bitterness.

“I think I actually prefer Justice,” Varric muttered.

Fenris nodded. “May we speak with your demon instead? He always did have more sense.”

“Oh, he would love that, trust me. But he’s…” Anders looked down. “...not available.”

Merrill gasped, and her eyes grew wide. “Anders! What have you done?” 

“Nothing. Well, nothing that I know of, anyway. I just…” he sighed.

There was a sadness to him now, not just the physical deterioration from his self-imposed exile, but a deep, heartbreaking loneliness, and Hawke actually felt sorry for him. Yes, the past few years had been hard. With everyone initially scattered because of his actions. But at least they’d had each other for company. After escaping and living the pirate life with Isabela for a few months while things calmed down in Kirkwall, Varric had returned to the city to help smooth things over along with Aveline and Bethany and Cullen, before he left with Cassandra. Merrill had stuck around with Hawke and Fenris for awhile, but eventually returned to the alienage, to help with the rebuilding efforts among the displaced city elves. Finally, coming out of hiding to aid the Inquisition had made Hawke a public figure again, much to Fenris’ chagrin, so there had been no point in them trying to return to their quiet life as anonymous travelers. 

But Anders had apparently spent almost all of this time alone. Wasting away in a cave. Without even Justice for company. Surely, that was penance enough for his crime...and truthfully, it _had_ ignited the revolution he longed for. In the end, the mages were considerably more freer now, in large part, because of him. Many even heralded him as a hero, though it wasn’t in his nature to ever be able to play _that_ part.

“Nevermind. You should leave. I’m sure the Inquisitor wouldn’t want you wasting time with me, some filthy apostate terrorist, while her shining Knight-Commander is bleeding out from a stab wound and being destroyed internally from the poison. Please give him my regards, and let him know I’ll send a prayer to Andraste for his salvation.”

“Anders, please? The Inquisitor is a mage. She disapproves of the Templars’ past abuses as much as you, and I’m sure she holds nothing against you.”

“I’ve met plenty of mages in the past several years who hold _everything_ against me. People who would rather have continued to live their lives as prisoners, as _slaves_ , than fight for their own freedom or for justice.”

Fenris shot him a warning glare to choose his words carefully.

But Merrill was still staring wide-eyed at him. “Where _is_ Justice?”

“I told you, I don’t know!” he shouted, looking as though he might burst into tears if she continued to press him on the matter.

“But...he was...you were…” Merrill couldn’t seem to wrap her mind around one half of her friend just going missing like this. She looked down at the ground in mournful silence.

They all stood there. At an impasse. So many things that needed to be said, apologized for, made right. But none of them willing to be the first to say the things they needed to in order to begin to heal their fractured friendships.

“I might know someone who could help you find him,” Varric finally offered in resignation.

Everyone turned around to look at him in surprise. Varric usually wasn’t the first person, or even the third or fourth, that people thought of when it came to being at all eager to work with spirits or anything having to do with the Fade.

“What?” Hawke and Anders both said in unison. Fenris just raised a skeptical eyebrow at him.

“Few people even realize he exists, it seems. You’d need to come with us and help, and _if_ you behave, this _friend_ of the Inquisition might be persuaded to help you. Luckily, he’s pretty compassionate…”

“Who are you even talking about?” Hawke asked, failing to recall anyone in the Inquisition other than Solas, who was still missing as far as she knew, with any extensive knowledge or expertise when it came to spirits.

“You don’t stay still long enough to notice him, Hawke. But he’s been with us on and off this entire time.”

Fenris exhaled impatiently. “Stop talking in riddles.”

“Oh, I promise you’re gonna _hate_ this, too, Broody.” He chuckled. “Another thing I am gonna have to apologize for, I’m sure. I’ll make it up to you and let you win next time we play cards.”

“Er, Varric?” Hawke looked suddenly very worried for her friend. “You’re starting to sound a bit like your brother…”

“Nothing like that. No red lyrium involved in this, I swear!”

Anders was trying not to look intrigued, but the thought of pissing off Fenris was too tempting. “I’m assuming this is a rift mage or something? Or some Avvar seer? Or did your precious Inquisitor manage to bind a spirit against his will, to use him for her own purposes?”

“Well, he’s certainly _something_. We’ve never quite figured out just what. But he likes to help. And he’s with us willingly. He sought _us_ out...several times, in fact. But we’re wasting time that Curly may not have. So are you in or shall we just leave you here to wallow in self-pity?”

Anders looked at Merrill, who was nodding enthusiastically, though she was as clueless about the details as the rest of them. And then Hawke, whose face was still pleading with him in ways he knew she wasn’t capable of doing in words. Finally, he turned to see Fenris glaring at him, just daring him to say yes, and that settled it.

“Fine,” he huffed. “But this isn’t permanent. As soon as Cullen is well, or dead, and you’ve introduced me to this mysterious spirit whisperer, who will probably not be able to offer any new insight about Justice, anyway...then you let me leave. And you don’t follow me, or check up on me, or --”

“Let me be completely clear, Blondie,” Varric leaned in close to him, forcing Anders to bend down to his level in order to continue looking him in the eye. “I’m doing this for _Cullen_. I couldn’t care less what you do or where you go once you’ve healed him.”

“Whatever! Yes, of course!” Hawke grinned, pushing between them and interrupting the sudden intensity of Varric’s sneer. “We managed to leave you alone out here for nearly five years, didn’t we?”

“Yes. I suppose you did.” Anders smiled, looking from Hawke back to the others, and beaming at her because he _knew_ it would piss off Fenris even more. “Though I imagine that wasn’t _all_ on you, love, now was it?”

Hawke shrugged, and silently mouthed, “Thank you!” as the light that filtered into the cave danced playfully in her electric blue-green eyes. In this brief moment, they were sparkling just for him, like they did the first time they’d met, over a decade ago, and he could almost forget all the bitter, unwinnable arguments they’d had with each other since then.

…

By the time they met back up with the rest of the Inquisition search party, Cullen had begun to drift in and out of consciousness and his face had gone from pale to the same sickly shade of green that had spread from the wound. They had been forced to stop to rest again, in spite of their desire to get to Cumberland as soon as possible, hoping Hawke and her friends would return soon, successful in their efforts to find and convince Anders to help them. 

Evelyn’s back was propped against a tree, and she’d dragged Cullen back into her lap, which would have been comical because of their size difference if she didn’t look so utterly terrified that if she let go of him for just a minute, she’d lose him. She had been working to keep his soaring fever down to sub-brain-melting temperatures by freezing her hands and holding one on his forehead, while keeping the other pressed against his wound in hopes it would at least slow the poison’s effects or dull them somehow. She had no idea if what she was doing was helping or making things worse or doing absolutely nothing at all, but she knew that she had to be doing _something_. Or else she’d have completely fallen apart into a useless blubbering disaster.

Without any snide remarks or even much of an introduction other than nods and a couple of grunts, Anders sat down next to them and encouraged her to keep working on the fever. She was relieved that at least she’d had the right idea about _that_. He shifted Cullen forward, relieving her from the physical weight of him, too, and slumping his nearly-lifeless body over a stack of their traveling packs so he could take a closer look at the knife wound in his back. At first glance, he was confident he could at least deal with the superficial damage, and immediately went to work using his magic to cleanse it of all the dead, necrotic tissue, and then regenerating and knitting the torn flesh and ligaments and muscles back together, but the poison was an entirely different matter altogether.

He looked up apologetically at Evelyn as she cast another cold spell over her hands and placed them on Cullen’s sweaty brow. 

“I can slow it down, maybe stop it from spreading any further, but it’s already spread throughout most of his body,” he sighed, leaning back a little, clearly exhausted, and looking somehow even weaker than when they’d brought him down from the hills, a slouching skeleton with rags and a beard draped over bones and little else.

Evelyn handed him a lyrium potion from her belt, and he drank it down in one gulp, nodding gratefully at her. A bit of color, whatever there could be in his hollowed out cheeks, returned to his face.

“Do you need more lyrium? To get it all out of him? This cold is just a minor spell, so I haven’t needed any myself, but I packed more, just in case, and you can have whatever you need!”

Anders shook his head, sadly, confirming what she was trying to pretend she hadn’t already understood. “No, I mean... _I_ can’t get rid of it all. Not without _him_ …”

Evelyn looked up at Hawke now, who had been standing there watching in awe as Anders expended nearly all of his own scant energy to try to heal a man who had once tried to argue that he wasn’t even a person.

“I think he means Justice,” she said quietly, a hint of sadness in her voice. She’d always loved to watch Anders work. As a healer, he was authoritative, focused entirely on the immediate task, on the well-being of his patients, whoever they were, and he was magnificent. He was still, remarkably, all of that, but without Justice, she knew he wouldn’t be able to perform the miracle Cullen desperately needed.

Merrill nodded. “Anders _is_ a good healer. The best! But no mortal by themselves can purge a body completely of poison like _that_ without a spirit to help. It seems like it must have been blood magic they used to enchant that weapon, but I can’t quite make sense of it. Nasty stuff...not the nice, useful kind...”

“Weighing its _usefulness_ against the cost of _any_ blood magic is just a matter of personal taste, I’m told…” Anders muttered.

Merrill frowned at him, but made no apologies for whatever it was he apparently still held against her. “We need to find Justice. _He_ can fix this.”

Cullen suddenly moaned something incomprehensible about demons and abominations, while Anders smiled and began to hum an oddly familiar tune as he sat back up, preparing to get back to work trying to mitigate the effects of the poison as best he could in spite of what he’d just told Evelyn.

“Hush little Templar, don’t say a word. This apostate’s gonna find you a spirit to purge…” he sang in a light, eerie voice, hastily adding “...you of poison,” before furrowing his brow and placing his glowing hands back on the site of the wound, which had already begun to look infinitely better.

Evelyn watched him with deep concern. This waif of a man who was supposed to have been a heroic martyr, the Healer of Darktown, Anders the Apostate, a Grey Warden, even, who could have just as easily been one of the corpses they’d fought back at the Temple of Dirthamen now, singing his creepy little song to her half-dead husband. But whether it was the song or his healing magic, something he was doing seemed to work to calm Cullen down. His panicked murmuring subsided and a restful expression settled across his face.

“He’s been alone for a long time…” Varric tried to quietly reassure her, though he would’ve had to admit that he found Anders’ current appearance and behavior a little unsettling as well.

“Yeah. No shit! And has he eaten at all in the five years since he blew up the Chantry in Kirkwall?” Bull asked.

Anders laughed without looking up from his work. “Has he eaten? Don’t you people ever stop worrying about whether or not your pet mage is getting enough food?”

“So that’s probably a ‘no’…” Varric translated, with an apologetic shrug at Bull.

“We should go get us _all_ some food, then,” Bull offered. “I could use Bianca’s range, Varric, if you can bear to tear yourself away from this, and I’m assuming the Dalish witch can skin and dress wild game better than she can dress a wound?”

“Daisy?”

“Oh me! Yes, it’s been awhile, but yes! I think I can remember how…” Merrill nodded, determinedly. “Just promise it won’t be halla…?”

“Of course! I’m not a barbarian!” Bull promised. “Halla’s too gamey, anyway. I was thinking we should roast a ram tonight, if we’re going to make camp here. That’s not sacreligious to anyone present, is it?”

“Just hold off on the rashvine this time, please, Merrill…” Evelyn pleaded, eyeing the surface rash around Cullen’s wound that had very nearly disappeared under Anders’ healing care.

“Oh, but I don’t think that’s a typical preparation for wild ram?” Merrill looked confused for a moment.

Anders laughed. “So _that’s_ what happened here…”

“Oh! The poultice! Yes...sorry, I couldn’t find any elfroot…and I _know_ it’s a kind of mild poison, but I thought the nettles might also help with circulation around the wound, and hardening of the skin, and well...”

“Aw, it’s okay, love,” Anders cooed condescendingly at her. “You tried, and you didn’t make things any worse. Not really. From now on, though, maybe just stick to the stuff you used to help me with at the clinic. Boiling water. Sterilizing bandages…”

“And rustling up some grub!” Bull boomed, motioning for Merrill to follow him and Varric deeper into the woods for the hunt. “C’mon...let’s leave them to it! Don’t let anyone make you feel bad. I bet you can do some real cool shit with rocks and trees and stuff, can’t you?” he laughed. 

Bull’s loud, booming, guttural laughter had a way of lifting people’s spirits, and Merrill had begun to find his hulking presence strangely comforting. She smiled up at him. “As a matter of fact, I can!"

“I'd love to see it! And I’ll have you know that rashvine is one of the key ingredients in my vitaar!”

“Oh! Tell me about _that_! Is it like blood writing? Like our vallaslin?”

The two continued chattering amicably as they headed off into the woods in search of dinner. Varric took one last look at Anders, and then nodded to Hawke and Evelyn before following them.

...

With the others urging him to eat to no avail and taking turns checking on him, Anders worked through most of the night, trying to stabilize Cullen enough and bolster his body’s defenses against the poison, at least until they could make it to Cumberland. Once there, he might be able to enlist the help of some other healers or summon a spirit without risking possession by some feral demon loitering close to the Veil or left over from some unclosed Fade rift. Around midnight, he sent Evelyn to bed since Cullen’s fever had finally subsided, and he refused Merrill’s offer for a third time to use her bedroll for an hour or two of sleep.

“I’m sure Varric’s friend will be able to help,” she offered, conciliatorily, sitting down next to him in order to keep him company since he refused to take any rest for himself.

“I hope so,” he sighed.

“What happened, Anders?” she whispered. “How did you lose him?”

He looked directly at her, too tired to be angry at her for bringing it back up. It _was_ Merrill, after all. And he knew she brought it up out of concern for him, for Justice, and because she wanted to help. “I honestly don’t know. He was with me, through the Chantry explosion. Through the fight with Meredith, I remember.”

“Me too! He helped out quite a few times during that fight if I recall…”

“Then, he just...wasn’t.”

Merrill looked horrified for a moment at the thought that the spirit who had inhabited Anders for as long as she’d known him could just disappear like that. But then, a strange look came across her face as she pondered the situation for a little while longer.

“Maybe...he’d fulfilled his purpose…?”

“Is that...a thing?”

“I don’t really know. But you two both had worked so hard, for so long. And blowing up the Chantry _did_ ultimately achieve your goals, didn’t it? Almost all of the Circles rebelled along with Kirkwall...eventually. Mages no longer have to worry about being hunted down and imprisoned now that the Inquisition and the new Divine have taken up their cause. And I’ve heard Cassandra has been training her new Seekers on how to reverse the Rite of Tranquility for those who wish it.  So maybe, Justice realized you didn’t need him anymore?

“Hmmm…” Anders stared thoughtfully down at his patient, who _was_ doing better, in spite of the lingering poison.

“He misses you, too.”

“How could you possibly know that, Merrill?”

“That...wasn’t me.”

“No. It was me. I came to help.”

They both turned around to see a pale, gangly... _being_ , standing hunched self-consciously under a ridiculous floppy oversized hat. His straw-colored hair hung down in his face like a child badly in need of a haircut, obscuring his eyes. He was a sort-of boy, but not nearly solid enough to be _real_...except he was there, standing behind them, talking and everything.

“Are you...did Varric send for you?” Merrill asked excitedly.

He looked at her, puzzled. “I come when and where I am needed. I come to help. He did, too, but he thought it would be better if he left. Better for you. Easier. He thought your friends would forgive you. He didn’t know you would be unable to forgive yourself.”

Merrill looked pitifully back at Anders, who was trying desperately not to look like his soul had just been ripped open and laid bare for the world to see.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“I am Cole. I am Compassion. I am a friend of the Inquisition. I want to help.”

“Well, you’re not.” Anders glanced down at Cullen, who still remained unconscious, even with the fever gone and all the magic he’d poured into him.

“The poison twists and traps his thoughts. He fights the call of it in his blood, but he still remembers the hatred that grew from the fear and the pain in that cage. He doesn’t want to be that man again. He can’t. So he stays asleep. For her.”

“Can you get rid of it?”

“I can help him forget…”

“No!” Merrill shouted. “I mean, I don’t think he’d appreciate that...what Anders means is, can you get rid of the poison?”

“I can help.”

“You keep saying that...” Anders was quickly running out of patience for the mysterious visitor.

“It is what I am.”

“Well, _I_ am a healer. I heal. And if you help me heal this man, rid him of this poison, or put me in touch with a spirit who can, you’ll be _helping_ us both. Not to mention all the people here who seem to care a great deal about whether he lives or dies...for some reason.”

“And then, you will forgive yourself?” Cole asked hopefully.

“Well, I’m not sure it’s that easy…and making deals with... _whatever_  you are seems a bit...” He frowned. “Look, I just would prefer a short-term mutual partnership for the sake of healing this... _Templar_."

Cole frowned, matching Anders’ expression.

“Anders!” Merrill pleaded with him.

“I mean...sure. Yeah. Fine. I’ll try,” he grumbled.

“A partnership, then…” Cole smiled broadly then leaned forward toward Anders and disappeared.

“Anders? Is he...did you...is everything okay?”

“He is. We are.” Anders’ voice responded, but it was clear that the spirit was speaking.

“Oh good!” Merrill sounded far too relieved for someone who’d just seen her friend become possessed, but then, she had always been the most at ease whenever Justice took over, too. “Is there, um, anything I can do to help?”

“You are also Compassion?”

“I, err, no...I am Merrill.”

“Curiosity and Hubris. Like Pride. Not _just_ like him. Another piece of what he used to be…” Cole looked at her through Anders’ eyes, his head cocked curiously to the side. “Yes. Tempered by Kindness and Love. They ripple out across time and space. You see more than just the old reflections when you allow yourself to look.”

Merrill looked away from him, feeling suddenly exposed. She had not anticipated _this_ , her mind...no, her _soul_ to be read so clearly by an unknown spirit. A sort of panic crept over her. What if this ‘Cole’ turned on them the way her spirit had when it possessed Marethari? She looked over toward the tents, where her friends were sleeping. If she woke them now, trying to explain that a strange spirit had appeared and taken control of Anders, there was no telling what kind of mess there’d be. 

No. She and Anders could handle this. So far, in the few minutes since he’d appeared, they had seen nothing from Cole that might indicate he had any harmful intent, and somehow, she just _believed_ him when he said he was a spirit of compassion.

“Why do so many fear you?” he asked.

“I...have made mistakes,” she muttered, putting her hands over her face as if that might keep him from seeing more, or at least to keep her from remembering the look on their faces when they told her to never come back. “I have hurt people. People I was meant to take care of.”

“ _You_ did not hurt them. The fear and pride that hurt them were their own. You were only trying to help.”

“Well, they blamed me.”

“I could help them understand…or forget?”

“It’s too late for that, I think,” Merrill shook her head sadly, then peeked at him again through her fingers. “Oh! But what about Cullen? He needs your help _now_.”

Cole nodded through Anders. “I will help the healer heal him and in so doing, help the others, too.”

“Thank you,” Merrill whispered, wiping a tear from her cheek. “For helping…”

...

Anders awoke to find Merrill muttering “please wake up, please wake up” and pacing back and forth as she debated which of the others would be best to wake up and ask for help if he didn’t. He had no recollection of falling asleep, nor any idea how long he’d been unconscious, but he felt better than he had in a very long time. He stretched out his long lanky limbs for what felt like the first time in his life, and bumped into a large, warm body next to him. To his surprise, it actually moved.

“Anders?” A familiar voice. Not always a friendly one. But at the moment, it sounded pleasantly surprised. _Grateful_ , even. "What are you...?" Cullen seemed to be waking up as well, in about the same disoriented state.

Merrill turned to look at them both. “Oh! Oh! Thank the Creators!” she shouted in relief. “I was worried that he…”

“Who?”

“Cole!”

“What?”

“The spirit. The boy. I don’t really know. Something sort of in-between…I was worried he’d pushed you too far, given your current state.”

“Quite the contrary. I feel great!” Anders looked around, searching for the odd spirit. “Where is he now?” He was finding it hard to recall what he looked like. The memory of him was like a dream he remembered having but the details had all faded away in the process of waking up.

“He re-appeared for just a moment, asked if I wanted to remember our conversation, and then disappeared again.”

“You’ll have to ask Varric or Evelyn more about him. He doesn’t ‘visit’ me the same way he does some of the others, but at least I can remember him…which is more than a lot of people can say.” Cullen reached around his back, tentatively touching the place where his nearly-fatal wound had been. “Do I understand correctly? I owe you some thanks? For saving my life?”

“Cullen!” Evelyn had re-emerged from her tent, hearing the commotion, and, at the sight of her husband sitting upright and capable of speaking in complete sentences, assumed Anders had performed the very miracle he said he couldn’t.

“Evelyn…” Cullen beamed at her.

She raced over to him, wrapping her arms greedily around him. “I thought you’d be dead by morning!”

“Wow, well...uh, I’m not,” he grunted. “As you can see. Thanks to Anders. I think? And Cole, it seems.”

“Thank you, Anders! I was hoping Cole would show up. But honestly, I wouldn’t have cared if you’d made a deal with a demon!”

Anders looked at Merrill. “Did I?”

She laughed and shook her head. “No. Well, maybe. But he helped, didn’t he? That’s all he wanted to do.”

Varric had also peeked out from his tent. “The kid was here? He didn’t even say hello!”

Evelyn laughed, relief pouring out of her. “I’m sure he’ll find a way to make it up to you, Varric.”

“Your good mood must mean the Commander is gonna be alright?” Bull called from the next tent over.

“I am, thanks for asking!” Cullen hollered to him.

“Good! I’m going back to sleep, then, and I recommend you all do the same.”

“Or at least shut up out there!” Hawke called from the tent she and Fenris were sharing with Varric. “Fenris is a light sleeper…”

“I am not.”

“Well, you’re awake now, aren’t you?”

“Because you are shouting directly into my ear,” he hissed.

“GOOD NIGHT EVERYONE!” Hawke hollered, even louder. “Oh, and also...congrats on still being alive, Cullen!”

“Thanks...I think.”

...

Evelyn beamed at Cullen as they lay in the tent together, feeling true relief for the first time in days. “I was so worried for you Cullen!”

“I’m sorry I scared you, darling,” he whispered, kissing her on the head.

“You’re so stubborn, even on death's door!”

Cullen chuckled to himself. “Do you think less of me?” 

“Of course not! But we definitely need to get you better armor,” she said, snuggling up close against him. “The stuff you wore strutting around Skyhold and shouting orders at my soldiers wasn’t meant for this kind of action.”

“We’ll have to see what they have in Cumberland…” he murmured, sleepily.

“I wish you’d be a little more careful, too.”

“I promise I will be…” He yawned. “As long as you keep dear Merrill away from me.”

Evelyn laughed as she thought about the horrendous concoction she’d put on Cullen’s wound. 

“I almost killed the poor girl. She means well, though. At least, I think she does.”

“I don’t think Hawke would ever let you touch a hair on her head.”

“I could take her, I think,” Evelyn said self-righteously, flexing to show Cullen her muscles.

“What am I looking at here?” he said, squeezing her upper arm, trying to find her muscles.

“Very funny,” she giggled, pushing him away. 

Cullen leaned back in and gently kissed her, before pulling away to look into her eyes.

“When I was dying, I felt like I was leaving so much behind. I haven’t seen my sisters and little brother in years. I know we’re still on official business but...Evelyn, I want us to slow down eventually, before we’re too old to enjoy life. We could travel without the burden of the Inquisition hanging over us, or we could maybe have a child or…” he trailed off as he noticed Evelyn smiling goofily up at him.

“Children? How will they compete with your love for Pup?”

“They’d be a close second of course, but I’d still treat them well.”

“I love you Cullen. And as soon as we find Dorian, we can start thinking about ways to ‘slow down’ and phase ourselves out of the day-to-day operations of the Inquisition.”

Their tender moment was interrupted by a kerfuffle outside.

“That’s IT!” Varric was shouting, “I’m going to beg Bull to let me share his tent!” Followed by Hawke’s uproarious laughter.

Merrill sighed, and curled up on her bedroll next to Anders like a cat. He absently reached down and ran his fingers through her hair, and he could’ve sworn he heard her purring as she drifted off to sleep under the stars. He sighed, staring up and appreciating the night sky for the first time in a long while.

...

After a later start than usual the next morning, they made their way toward Cumberland. Evelyn still held out hope that Fiona might be able to help them figure out where Dorian had disappeared to, or that word from another Inquisition agent might be waiting for them there. But when they arrived, nobody seemed to be expecting them, and Fiona was gone.

“What do you mean…’gone’?!” Evelyn demanded. 

Unfortunately, the young apprentice who’d greeted them at the main entrance to the opulent castle could provide no other details. “Well, she just sort of...left, presumably. Early this morning, I imagine. No word as to where or why or for how long.”

Evelyn just stared at the young mage in front of her, wanting to scream. She was frustrated, irritable, even, with the way her mark continued to bother her more and more each day, especially when she was stressed. She wanted to be relieved that Cullen had survived, but she was back to being worried about Dorian now. And they had learned nothing new since the note in Orlais had basically just confirmed what Dorian’s mother had told her. That Dorian had left Tevinter, headed south. But if he hadn’t come through Cumberland, then where?

Anders eyed her, the Anchor in her hand, specifically, as it pulsed with a faint green glow, and made a mental note to try and convince her to have him take a look at it later.

“Had she met with anyone recently? From Tevinter, or...suspicious in any other way?” Cullen asked, trying to be helpful.

The mage looked a little horrified at the suggestion. “No! Why would she...” He shook his head. “No,” then added, eyeing the former Templar _and_ Anders, “But this is not like the Circles used to be. We are all free to come and go as we please. This is a peaceful, democratic place.” 

It wasn’t clear which one of them he was trying harder to convince.

“Of course! I didn’t mean to suggest --” Cullen’s face went red and he looked down at the ground. He knew his presence still made many mages uncomfortable. He’d worked so hard to atone for the mistakes he’d made, things he’d allowed to happen in Kirkwall and in Ferelden before that, but he would always be a Templar to some, and he supposed that was fair. He looked up pleadingly at Evelyn. She was usually better at these kinds of things.

“Let’s check her study to see if there are any hints as to where she’s gone,” Evelyn blurted out with considerably less finesse than usual.

The apprentice frowned, and so did Anders. “Don’t you think that’s a bit... _invasive_?” he asked.

“No,” she said flatly, making it clear that there was no discussion to be had here. “This is the third mage with prominent ties to the Inquisition that has gone missing. She may not have left of her own volition. She may be in trouble.”

“There were no signs of a struggle or kidnapping…” the apprentice assured her, looking uneasily now at all three of them.

“There weren’t for the first two, either, but they have since disappeared without a trace,” Evelyn explained impatiently. “We know the Venatori are still hunting magical artifacts, why not also magical people?”

Evelyn, Bull, and Cullen searched the office for any hints or clues as to where Fiona may have suddenly disappeared to, while the others loitered around awkwardly in various states of boredom and disapproval. 

Merrill seemed overly interested in the collection of carved figurines arranged on one of the bookshelves.”Ooooh! I’ve never seen this wolf one! It must be quite rare!”

“We’ll get you a little wooden wolf from the bazaar in Kirkwall, Daisy…” Varric promised.

“But this one has such pretty green gems for eyes!”

“Perhaps Xenon could hook us up?” Hawke smiled. She was the only one of them who actually _enjoyed_ visiting the Black Emporium, and would jump at any excuse to go peruse the creepy wares and be verbally abused by the ancient relic.

Just as Evelyn was on the verge of flipping Fiona’s desk over in frustration at their lack of new information, another apprentice rushed into the study, holding a little scroll tied with a patch of lace pressed over the standard wax seal of the Inquisition. “A note for you, Inquisitor! Just arrived via raven!” 

Evelyn rushed  across the room and nearly ripped it from the poor young woman’s hand.

\---

_Inquisitor,_

_Our people have tracked them to Kirkwall. Head east as quickly as you can along the coast and I will meet up with you there._

_Also, I assume by now you have been made aware of the Venatori activity in Nevarra. Not sure if they have anything to do with this. But we are also hearing word of a network of well-placed elven informants working as slaves, servants, mercenaries, and in the alienages all across Thedas. They are calling themselves the Agents of Fen’Harel. They are incredibly secretive and it is difficult for us to estimate the size of the organization or their amount of influence, but they seem to have inserted themselves into every powerful political organization across Thedas. We have yet to fully understand their purposes or motivations._

_Be wary,_

_Harding_

\---


	8. The Unwelcome Visitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and Alarion head to Kirkwall. They realize they are not very good at not being noticed.

Dorian awoke, his head throbbing. He tried to reach up to touch where it hurt, but found himself restricted. He opened his eyes and realized he was moving, slumped over the rear end of a horse, looking at the muddy ground beneath them. 

He tried to stay calm and gather his thoughts, but he was, after all, bound up and slung sideways over the _BACK OF A HORSE_! 

The last thing he remembered was a fight with assassins...and he could’ve sworn he remembered winning that fight. Had one of them managed to sneak up on him? Was he being taken prisoner by the Venatori as some kind of bargaining chip? Why wouldn’t they have just killed him?

“Dorian?” The voice was familiar, _almost_ tender, concerned, even. Except it sounded far too guilty.

Then...oh yes. _Alarion_. The spying...the desperate confession. It was all coming back to him now.

“Let me go, please,” he muttered, his voice hoarse and his head still drumming pain with every slow step the horse took.

The beast stopped, and Dorian was finally able to lift his head. There stood Alarion, looking both worried and sheepish, keeping a strange distance from him, even though he was tied up and no danger to anyone.

“Alarion, get me off this fucking horse! All I can smell is its arse.” 

Alarion walked around and unfastened whatever had been keeping Dorian attached, and he slid off into the mud.

“Well done,” Dorian muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Listen to me, Dorian. I know I’m not your favourite person right now, but we’re in deep shit here.”

“You knocked me out and tied me to your horse! ‘Not my favourite’ is an understatement. And you’re the one who is in deep _shit_. I’m just taking a little break down here. In the _mud_.”

“I...didn’t. It was one of the assassins...he was hiding in the trees! I came back when I heard the commotion, and...my bow...I --” Alarion sighed in defeat. “You don’t believe any of this, do you?”

“Not a bit. And why should I? You’ve done nothing but lie to me since we met."

“Not _everything_ has been a lie, Dorian.”

“Well, we can add traumatic head injury and kidnapping to the list of your crimes against an Ambassador of the Inquisition. When we get to Skyhold...”

“If we head there now, you’re dead, don’t you understand?!”

“So what do _you_ suggest we do from here? Hide in the forest forever? You’re not even really Dalish!”

“No…” he muttered, looking at the ground. “Well, just until the hunt dies down, _then_ we can find a way to contact your friends.”

“And what’s your plan until then?”

“I don’t know!” Alarion exclaimed in exasperation, dragging his hands back through his hair. It was clear he’d been thinking about it, though. He looked completely ragged from all the fretting. “We could head to the Free Marches, maybe? To Kirkwall…? You have friends there. And it’s probably the least likely place that anyone would look for you.”

A strained hint of a smile began to creep across Dorian’s face. He might have had Venatori assassins and some other mysterious network of spies to worry about. He might not have been able to contact the only people who could help him, and his traveling companion might have betrayed him, but at least there’d be some fun to have in Kirkwall with Hawke and Varric. And he couldn’t think of anyone else, besides Maevaris or Evelyn who were too far out of reach, that he trusted more.

Alarion held his hand out, which Dorian begrudgingly took as he helped him to his feet.

“This is just a means to an end, you know,” Dorian grumbled, his head throbbing intensely again from the effort of standing up, reminding him that as helpful and as handsome as Alarion was in this moment, he was still dangerous and could not be trusted.

“I have no illusions of it being anything otherwise. Just…” There was no use in trying to plead his case. He didn’t really have much of one, anyway. “...know how sorry I am. About everything.” 

He sighed and looked away as Dorian refused to even acknowledge his apology. 

“I brought your horse and staff,” he said more brightly, nodding to the horse grazing in a clearing nearby with the staff stowed among Dorian’s other things on its back.

“How kind of you…”

“Do you think you can ride? We should keep moving until we know we are safe.”

“Well, if someone hadn’t knocked me unconscious…”

“You were going to leave without me! You wouldn’t listen…you were, and still _are_ , in danger!”

“And I would’ve been fine. Better off, even. And you would’ve been able to just...disappear. Back into the woods or wherever you came from.” Dorian was trying so hard to be cruel in order to hide the lingering sense of betrayal and humiliation he felt, a skill he’d picked up from his mother. “But now...you’ve given me no choice but to turn you over to the Inquisition as soon as we make contact with them.”

“That’s...fair.” Alarion slowly nodded. “So long as they can keep you safe.”

…

They traveled as quickly and inconspicuously as they could, avoiding main roads and the other Free Marcher towns and villages along the way, in hopes that the assassins who supposedly “wouldn’t stop until Dorian was dead,” could be allowed to believe they were still heading through Orlais to Skyhold. 

This was no longer a leisurely tour through the countryside. With their grueling pace, made more miserable by the disgruntled silence that had fallen between them, and after only a few short breaks for rest or to eat a handful of the rations Dorian’s staff had packed for him, they could make out the distinctive cliffs that surrounded Kirkwall’s harbor rising up in the distance.

They slowed their horses as they trotted toward the beleaguered city from the west, and Dorian’s mood seemed to improve at the prospect of interacting with people. People he hoped would be able to help him, even if only to distract him from Alarion’s betrayal while he figured out how to rid himself of his unwanted companion and make contact with the Inquisition.

But before they could get into the city proper, they had to pass through the western outskirts, home to some of Kirkwall’s newest, and poorest residents, most of them refugees who had been denied entrance to the main city during the last Blight. They had been forced to either head back to Ferelden, to the death and destruction of the Darkspawn horde, or settle in camps in the low-lying places along the coast outside of the city. Those who made it in often suffered an even worse fate, being forced to live in the sewers of Darktown, though the tunnels below the city often served to connect these two populations, if one could safely navigate them and avoid the criminals who also made use of them. Over a decade later, many of the refugees had still never made it any further up in the world, and a new generation, their children, had come to consider this their permanent home.

Dorian covered his face as he began coughing at the stench of a thick fog that had begun to roll in from the swamps surrounding the settlement.

“Chokedamp. Try not to breathe too much of it in. We should be fine just passing through.”

“It’s disgusting, Alarion. I’m truly glad you brought us here, where I can smell this shit all the time...” Dorian reached up and blocked his nose. "I can't fathom what that dwarf sees in this place!"

“Blocking your nose won’t help. Shallower breaths might. It’s the toxic spores of a local fungus. It gets in your lungs, and can eventually kill you,” Alarion said, chuckling at Dorian’s horrified face.

"So where are we going to stay? Certainly not _here_..." 

"No,” Alarion shook his head as a small child darted across the road in front of them, trying to duck under the cloud of poisonous swamp gas. “We should be able to get into the city if you pull rank. You look important enough, but we still need to lay low. Use fake names, disguise ourselves…” He smirked. “And you’re probably going to have to lose _that_ ,” he said, pointing at Dorian’s mustache.

“Excuse me?” Dorian gasped, instinctively reaching up to touch the ends of his trademark facial hair.

…

Getting in turned out to be easy enough for them, just as Alarion had predicted. 

“Well, now that the Blight is over, why don’t all those sad-looking people just move into the city or back to Ferelden to escape those horrendous conditions in the swamps?” Dorian had wondered aloud, not really inviting a response.

Alarion just laughed sadly and shook his head. The mage really was quite clueless about most things that fell beneath his very exclusive social status, and now that they were barely on speaking terms, Alarion didn’t really care to try and enlighten him.

They had made their way hastily toward Hightown, relying on the bustling morning activity of the major port city for cover, but the crowds thinned considerably once one crossed into the part of the city reserved for its wealthiest merchants and nobility. Alarion stared up in awe at the empty wreckage of the Chantry as the harsh morning sunlight blared down through what remained of the structure and lit up the white marble and granite of Kirkwall’s grand estates and palaces. The last time he’d been here, it had still stood, fully in tact, casting its long, solemn shadow over the rest of the city with a huge gaudy golden statue of Andraste to really drive home the might and power of the church. Now, he supposed, its destruction served as a different kind of reminder.

Dorian seemed oblivious, or at the very least, unimpressed, as he searched for a member of the City Guard to speak with.

“Excuse me!” he called out to a young woman in official-looking armor with the city crest emblazoned across her shield. “Could you point me to the Tethras estate? I am a close, personal friend of Varric Tethras...”

“I’m afraid Messere Tethras is away on official Inquisition business.”

“The Champion, then?”

The guard looked a little suspiciously at Dorian’s staff with its obvious Tevinter serpent motif, but it wasn’t all that unusual for strange foreigners to come around asking for an audience with two of the most influential residents of the city. “She and her sister, Lady Bethany, reside together in the family estate. Just head that way...” She pointed north through the plaza. “You’ll have to make it through the merchants, past their guild hall, the one with the big dwarf statues, and then it’ll be on your left. Can’t miss it.” She knew that if these visitors had any ill intentions, Orana would sort them out.

Alarion looked askance at Dorian. “I didn’t realize the Champion of Kirkwall was a member of the nobility, too.” He didn’t really like the idea of parading around the neighborhood housing Kirkwall’s most rich and powerful families, and those most likely to have relationships with Tevinter’s own nobility or be Venatori sympathizers, or to have household servants who were also connected to the network of spies he’d abruptly been dismissed from.

“She’s not what you’re picturing, at all. I promise.”

“How do you know what I’m picturing?”

“I don’t. If I could read your mind, we wouldn't be in this predicament, now would we?" Dorian glared at him for a moment, then waved his hand dismissively. "But trust me. Whatever it is you _are_ imagining, she’s not it.”

They found the estate easily enough, but after shoving Hawke's slobbery mabari away, who looked even more disgusting and poorly-behaved than Cullen's Pup, they were informed by Orana, an elven woman calling herself both a friend and employee of Hawke, that the Champion was also out of town.

She looked curiously at Alarion first, then at Dorian. “Hrmm...your accents…you’re not from the Free Marches, are you?”

“We’re from Nevarra,” Alarion blurted out, elbowing Dorian before he could officially introduce himself and blow whatever cover they still had.

“She works for Hawke. I’m sure she’s trustworthy…” Dorian muttered out of the side of his mouth, but plenty loud enough for Orana to hear.

Orana smiled. “Ah, yes...Tevinter! I knew I recognized you! Haven’t seen you since you were a little boy, tagging along with your father!”

Alarion’s heart was racing again. He didn’t recognize her at all. But if she exposed his secret now, the one he hadn’t yet shared with Dorian, he was certain the man would never trust him again and they’d both be really and finally screwed.

“That is, until he and my _former_ mistress, Hadriana, had their falling out over her support for that monster Danarius’... _experiments_.” She shuddered. She had become close friends with Fenris over the years, and hearing about the things Hadriana had done to _him_ paled in comparison to the suffering she’d endured as an unremarkable kitchen slave. Well, that is, up until the day Hawke and her friends rescued her from the fate that had befallen her father.

Alarion, on the other hand, breathed a sigh of relief. She had recognized Dorian, of course.

“Yes. One of his few admirable decisions. Denouncing Danarius, that is. Pardon me for asking, but how did you end up _here_ , working for Hawke?”

She side-eyed Alarion again, before answering Dorian a bit more coolly, “She and her friends saved me from being sacrificed as part of a blood magic ritual and then they killed Hadriana. Hawke offered me a job, and a salary, managing her estate.” 

“Ah, yes. Of course…I’m...er, sorry to hear that.”

“I have never regretted accepting their help.”

“Of course not! I meant, about the blood magic…”

“My apologies.” She started to dip into a curtsy, but stopped herself. “Would you like to come in? Serah Hawke may not be here, but her sister, Lady Bethany, should be back soon from her weekly meeting with the Provisional Viscount and Guard-Captain. Their meetings tend to be much shorter when Serah Tethras is away. Their brother is staying here with another Grey Warden, on ‘secret Warden business,’ as well.”

Dorian's eyes lit up. “Sounds like the Hawke estate is just a bustling center of activity!”

Alarion glared at him and shook his head. Too many people had already seen them. And at least one person had already recognized Dorian. They needed to find a place to lay low for a bit and figure out what their plan was for getting in touch with the Inquisition.

“It usually is…”

“And you have no idea when the Champion will be back?”

“She’s not the best about keeping us apprised of her coming and going. Could be this evening...or a month from now. I’m sorry, I can’t know.”

Dorian looked over to Alarion and nodded begrudgingly. “We may be back! But for now, do you mind keeping our visit a secret? I really do wish to surprise her…"

"Of course! Most of Hawke's visitors are caught up in some secret scheme or another, so I am used to these kinds of requests." Orana smiled reassuringly.

"Excellent! And could you point us to the seediest establishment in town where the two of us might get a drink without being noticed by anyone important?”

“That’ll be the Hanged Man, though I daresay with _both_ Varric and Hawke out of town, and Isabela out thwarting slavers on the high seas, it’ll be a bit quieter than usual.”

“Sounds splendid!”

Alarion watched Orana carefully for any other sign of recognition or suspicion as she bid them a cheery farewell, but saw nothing more that alarmed him. If he'd have been able to see through the door, though, as she rushed off to scribble a hurried note and tied it around the neck of a raven, he might have felt otherwise.

…

“What is a fancy ‘Vint like you doing at a place like this with your hired Dalish bodyguard?”

The elven woman had slunk over to them after speaking with the bartender with a few furtive glances and some feeble attempts at playing off her interest in them through jokes and high-fives with the other patrons along the way.

If Alarion hadn’t been watching the entire tavern like a hawk on high alert all afternoon, he might have missed her. Her light leather armor and her daggers marked her as a rogue, but she was apparently a rogue of high status, at least among the patrons of the Hanged Man. It seemed Kirkwall had quite a few of these ‘hero’ rogues, which made sense, he supposed.

“Excuse me, but has anyone ever told you it’s rude to interrupt two people having a private conversation?” Dorian turned and looked at her in disgust. “Really...Free Marchers!”

This was definitely _not_ what Alarion had meant when he’d suggested that they ‘lay low’ for awhile.

“It’s my business to know when Tevinter sends their slaver scum our way…” She leered at him.

“Well, then I assure you, this is none of your business.” He turned back toward Alarion, pretending to be unbothered by her threatening tone.

Athenril peered over at Alarion, and a knowing grin spread across her face. “Oh...it’s _you_ , isn’t it? I heard you might be headed our way…”

“What does she mean, Alarion?” Dorian glared at him. Another secret. Another unforgivable strike against him. There wasn’t any point in keeping track anymore, really.

But Alarion just stared past Dorian at the other elf in defiant silence, his hands gripping his mug of ale to keep from reaching for his bow. There was no way of knowing how many others at the bar would join the fight if it came to that, and then, certainly, their cover, whatever remained of it, would be blown.

“What do you mean?!” Dorian turned back around and demanded of her.

“Oh, don’t worry. _I_ won’t tell anyone.” She grinned. “I’m not particularly loyal to that cause, anyway, and the other guys aren’t really offering a reward, at least not anything that’s interesting to _me_. Besides, you two _do_ make quite the pair.” She winked. “But if one of _my_ people fell for their mark and then tried to run away from a job, I’d be sure to take care of it myself.”

“Are you threatening us or is this considered smalltalk in Kirkwall?”

“Why can’t it be both?”

“C’mon, Dorian…” Alarion grumbled as he stood up from the table and looked around the tavern for anyone else who might have recognized them. The elf was clearly trying to warn them about something.

“Yeah, run and hide!” Athenril called after them as they made their way toward the room they’d rented in the back. “You cocky ‘Vint bastard!” 

The tavern-goers gave a loud cheer at her name-calling, and Athenril turned around to face them, her arms up in the air victoriously to mask her own systematic scanning of the bar for any other unfamiliar faces. She knew it was only a matter of time before _these_ unwelcome guests brought even more unwelcome visitors to Kirkwall.

Dorian slammed the door behind him, causing even more laughter to erupt from the tavern.

“We are absolutely, unequivocally, undeniably fucked,” Alarion said, pacing around the room.

He stopped and looked at Dorian, who was leaning on the door, looking wide-eyed at Alarion, finally maybe almost understanding the severity of their situation.

Alarion stared back at him for a moment, before an unnerving smile spread across his face. He went to his bag and rummaged through it, pulling out a straight razor.

“Shave the fucking mustache, Dorian. You’re going to get us killed,” he said, stepping closer.

“You have to be kidding me!” Dorian shouted, putting his hand over his face to protect his prized asset.

“If we die over some ridiculous facial hair, that will grow back soon enough, I will haunt you relentlessly in the afterlife...” Alarion slammed the razor against Dorian’s chest. 

Dorian grabbed the razor and let out a heavy sigh. He hated admitting that Alarion was probably right.

He dawdled over to the mirror, hoping to prolong his poor mustache’s life for as long as possible. He stared at himself for a second. His mustache was still curled perfectly on each end, in spite of the toll traveling and worrying had taken on nearly every other aspect of his appearance. He’d barely had to do anything to make it keep its shape anymore. Literal years of hard work and grooming had tamed it to behave exactly as he wished. Alarion, whose face was remarkably hairless, couldn’t possibly understand what it meant to him.

He gently ran his fingers over his mustache again and whispered, “See you soon, old friend,” as he brought the razor towards his upper lip and began to shave it off.

It didn’t take much. Just a few swipes of the razor in either direction, and Dorian was unrecognizable. “Are you happy, Alarion? I look like a child!”

“You look youthful and, more importantly, I _almost_ didn’t recognize you, except maybe it’s your hair that gives you away, after all?” He laughed, tousling Dorian’s hair.

Dorian ducked away from him. “I’d rather die and be stuck in the Fade with your ghost than cut my hair!” he snapped back, pushing his hair back into place. “Anyway, even without a mustache I’m still devilishly handsome. I can’t help that people notice me.”

“I suppose...” Alarion drawled, rolling his eyes. “What about your staff? It’s not exactly subtle.”

“It’s stylish!”

“It has serpents wrapped around it. You’ve enchanted them to move, Dorian. It’s the most stereotypically ‘evil Tevinter Magister’ thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Fine. I’ll leave it behind if we go back out. I don’t exactly _need_ it to do magic. But it helps focus my power, so it’d be nice to find a temporary replacement. One that you find more ‘acceptable,’ perhaps?”

“Fine.”

“I also need to find a way to contact Evelyn. I need her to know I’m not dead. She’d have to know by now we were going to surprise her...if she’s left Skyhold and is looking for me, she could also be in danger.”

Alarion rummaged through his bag and pulled out the broken message crystal.

“You kept it?”

“I’m sorry it broke, Dorian...” he said sadly, tracing the crack with his finger. There were so many other things he was sorry about, but he knew Dorian wasn’t about to hear them.

“Dagna could probably find some way to fix it, but she’s certainly not here.”

“Hmm…” Alarion stood up and walked over to look at the tourist’s map the last occupants of the room had left on the table. He stared for a second and then a smile, much less sinister than when he was forcing Dorian to shave his mustache, spread on his face. “The Black Emporium! Have you ever been?”

“No. Evelyn always went alone, bringing back all kinds of things and complaining about some loud bastard talking a lot of rubbish.”

“That loud bastard might be able to help us. He may have another, or the means to repair it. He has people who work for him, keeping his body clean and…” he paused, grimacing, “moist.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“It doesn’t matter. We’re in the shit here and can’t stay long. Let's head to the Emporium early in the morning, and see what we can find.”

…

They snuck out early, before dawn, hoping most of the tavern’s patrons would have left, or at least still be passed out from the night before, and wouldn’t heckle them on their way out. They were, unfortunately, wrong. Somehow, there was still a small crowd of people in the tavern playing cards or scheming or both, and as soon as they noticed Dorian’s lack of facial hair, several of them, who remembered the scene Athenril had caused from the night before, began yelling “Who is he?!” pretending to be completely fooled by his ‘disguise.’

“I don’t like this,” Dorian muttered, making his way quickly to the door.

“Yeah, it’s not ideal. I was really hoping we could get across town without being noticed.”

“G’morning, Serahs…” Athenril stood, blocking their way out of the tavern.

“You again?” Dorian bristled. “Wonderful!”

“Couldn’t help overhearing that you wished to get somewhere…” Athenril leaned in close. “...inconspicuously?”

“Yes, well, at least without being harassed...that would be preferable.”

“I happen to be quite good at moving things across town without anyone noticing.”

“So you’re a smuggler?” Alarion asked.

“Well, no need to be rude!" She put her hands up, feigning offense.

“How much?” he pressed her.

“What? You trust this... _criminal_?!” Dorian looked scandalized by the thought of being ‘smuggled’ like cargo anywhere. His cluelessness was really starting to get on Alarion’s nerves.

“Seems you don’t have a lot of other options. I heard reports already this morning of some real nasty-sounding folks in the city asking about you.”

Dorian sighed. “How much?”

“No charge, really.” She smiled greedily. “Just your staff...the one you had with you last night. It reminded me of someone. A dear friend. One of the many good people lost in the Rebellion...” She trailed off.

“Look, I’m very sorry about your friend, but I’m afraid my staff is not available. And what would _you_ even do with it? You’re hardly a mage.”

“Then I guess you’ll just have to hope you don’t run into whoever was looking for you.” She stepped aside, while Kirkwall, somehow even more menacing in the pre-Dawn light awaited. 

“Dorian...it’s just a staff. You can have another one made.”

“First my mustache, now my staff? Maker, Alarion! How much more can a man be asked to give up?!”

Alarion just stared at him, unmoved by his complaints.

“FINE!”

“Go back to your room, then, and look real offended as you go, like I've just insulted your mother."

"Ha! Joke's on you..." Dorian laughed bitterly.

"Whatever! I’ll meet you back there in a few minutes.”

“But how…?” Before Dorian could fully form a question, she was out of sight.

...

Athenril led them out of the inn through a series of tunnels and then had them cram themselves into a couple of crates marked for delivery to the Black Emporium and had her people load them onto a wheeled cart for transport. They held their breath and tried to stay absolutely still as they heard her negotiate with and threaten not one, but two different groups of rough-sounding criminals claiming to have some right to the precious cargo inside along the way. Nevertheless, they arrived at the Black Emporium some time around noon, undetected and unharmed, save for a bit of soreness. 

Athenril pried open their crates and offered each of them a hand. “This is where I leave you.” She nodded up toward a rickety-looking scaffolding. "Good luck, and may the Dread Wolf never catch your scent!”

Alarion’s eyes widened a bit in panic.

“Just an expression!” She laughed wickedly.

“Thank you…” he said cautiously, still half expecting her to reveal herself as Fen’Harel.

But she just smiled and nodded, hoisting Dorian’s staff up in acknowledgment of their deal, and turned to head back toward another tunnel.

They climbed up the wooden scaffolding, and as they approached the entrance to the mysterious shop, which was apparently inside of some sort of cave or ancient boathouse carved out of the side of one of Kirkwall's famous cliffs, a stone golem stepped aside to let them in.

Alarion grabbed on to Dorian’s shoulder. “Let me do the talking here,” he whispered. "It's by invitation only."

"And  _you_ were invited?"

"Yes. It's a long story. You can be my plus one."

Dorian nodded, exasperated by yet another mystery, but not really very interested in challenging whoever, or whatever, was in charge of the place.

As they walked along the rickety bridge that led to the main platform of the shop, Dorian couldn’t help but notice the stacks of crates and barrels and cages of birds and other creatures lurking in the shadows all around him. All manner of arcane and forbidden secrets seemed to have been collected here, but there was also a lot of junk. It was if someone had raided all the basements of Thedas over the past few centuries and hadn’t really bothered to sort out the valuables from the worthless trinkets. He had an overwhelming desire to touch and rifle through everything, but knew he’d probably lose a finger, or possibly his soul, if he did.

“CHAUNCEY, PLEASE GREET THE NEW GUESTS!” A voice boomed from all around them. “DO BE CAREFUL! HE MAY BE SMALL, BUT HIS BITE IS NOT!” 

Dorian looked at Alarion wildly. He had a little smile on his face. He pointed down the bridge, and Dorian watched as a small, but adult bear came galloping towards them.

“Is that...a shrunken bear?” Dorian said, flabbergasted. 

“HE WAS VERY EXPENSIVE, DO NOT HURT HIM!” the voice said, this time making Dorian feel like it was coming from inside his head.

He kneeled down and gingerly reached a hand out to stroke the bear, who promptly snapped at him, causing Dorian to lose balance and back away.

“Uh, Mister...Xenon...” Alarion stammered.

“SPIT IT OUT, BOY!”

“We were wondering if you could assist us in fixing this message crystal?” Alarion walked forward and presented the broken crystal to the desiccated body sitting in the center of the platform in front of them. “We’re in great danger and need to contact our friends.” 

“AHH YES! I HAVE SEEN A FEW OF THESE IN MY TIME. ANCIENT TECHNOLOGY...DWARVEN, I THINK. OR IS IT ELVEN? I NEVER CAN TELL THE DIFFERENCE...”

“So...can you fix it?”

“URCHIN! TAKE THIS BOY’S CRYSTAL AND SEE IF YOU CAN GET IT WORKING. THEY’VE NOT MUCH TIME LEFT SO NO DILLY-DALLYING!”

… 

While they waited, they perused Xenon’s eclectic wares. Dorian was able to find a new, less obvious staff, and some light armor he actually liked, while Alarion mostly fretted, keeping watch over the entrance bridge in case Athenril had decided to sell her knowledge about their whereabouts after all.

Dorian was thumbing through some old tomes of ‘forbidden’ magic and chuckling to himself at the quaintness of the southern Chantry’s notions of propriety, when the urchin ran forward, handed him the crystal, and then promptly disappeared back into the shadows again.

“THE BLACK EMPORIUM SHALL NOT BE HELD LIABLE FOR DEATH, DEMONIC POSSESSION, OR HIVES FROM IMPROPER USE OF THIS PRODUCT.”

“That’s reassuring,” Dorian muttered, looking at the crystal in his hands. As he turned it over, the busted message crystal began humming again and glowing a bright purple, but Dorian couldn’t seem to tune it to do much else.

“Your people?” he asked Alarion, irritably.

Alarion shook his head. “We use red.”

“Oh, I see! Silly me...should’ve known the network of spies would use a different color to hack my message crystal.”

“Someone is trying to contact you, Dorian.”

“Yes. But we will never know who, now will we?”

“Well, how many people have a message crystal tuned to this one? In _purple_ , specifically…?”

“Two. Evelyn and Mae.”

“Then it’s one of them! Which means they’ve probably noticed you’ve gone missing, at least. And as paranoid as you think I am, I don’t believe either of _them_ have been ‘compromised.’”

“Well, three, actually…”

“Your mother?”

Dorian shook his head.

“Oh.” Alarion remembered their prior conversations about the Qunari mercenary Dorian had been involved with during his time with the Inquisition. “Well, still...it probably can’t hurt to try and see who it is?” 

Dorian tried to answer the crystal, pouring his own magic into it, but the crack still seemed to be splitting and refracting the message, so it was nearly impossible to make any sense of it. He thought he could hear Evelyn’s voice, but only bits of words here and there made it through. Dorian panicked as the crystal began to glow and burn hot in his hands. He knew he only had a small amount of time before it was permanently destroyed, so he just started yelling, “BLACK EMPORIUM!” and “KIRKWALL!” hoping whoever it was could at least hear him.

He was so focused on screaming at the crystal that he didn’t hear the thunderous crash that came from the entrance to the Emporium, or the sound of the rickety old bridge swaying and straining under the weight of a group of people. He didn’t even notice Alarion’s panicked look as he strung his bow and prepared to defend him against whoever was approaching. 

It wasn’t until Xenon started yelling that he finally looked up to see what all the commotion was about. 

“UNINVITED GUESTS?! GOOD, THE CREATURE UNDER THE FLOOR IS HUNGRY...”

Dorian dropped the crystal and watched it shatter as the purple glow faded in smoke at his feet. He grabbed his new staff and in a panic began shooting lightning towards the entrance.

“There’s too many of them!” Alarion yelled above the noise of shouting, crackling thunder, and the painful screams of those who had been unlucky enough to be caught unprepared in the path of Dorian’s magic.

Dorian backed up and launched a ball of electricity at a mage running for cover behind a large barrel marked “6:27,” sending him flying off into the darkness. The floor began to rumble and a great groan came from beneath them.

“We’re going to fucking die here, and you made me shave for nothing!” he shouted in the direction he’d last seen Alarion moving.

“Maybe someone will draw it back on for your funeral!” Alarion yelled, somehow above him now, raining a continuous stream of arrows down upon their attackers.

Dorian sent another wave of lightning toward them, but most of it simply bounced off their reinforced barriers as they continued to close in on him.

“THROUGH THE MIRROR, BOYS! YOU KNOW THE PASSWORD. LEAVE THESE ONES TO ME. I LOVE THE CRUNCH SOUND THEY MAKE!”

Dorian looked completely baffled, as Alarion jumped down and pulled him towards the large menacing-looking mirror off to the side of the main platform.

“What the fuck is going on?”

“It’s an Eluvian…”

“And…?”

“Trust me!”

“I don’t!” Dorian reiterated for the umpteenth time in the past few days.

Alarion muttered something, touching the glass with his fingertips, then shoved Dorian right through it, following after him, as the sounds of the battle faded behind them.

…

“Maevaris, please! If you have a lyrium potion, or anything _else_ , can you channel a little more magical energy into that blasted thing?! I know you kids are too ‘progressive’ for it, but maybe this calls for some blood magic? I need to know that he’s alright! That awful Inquisitor woman who filled his head with such disastrous ideas has gone off on some wild good chase into the Free Marches, and he wouldn’t be caught dead there! I don’t trust her or her companions to find him.”

“Apologies…it doesn’t seem to be going through. It’s possible his message crystal has been broken.”

“Well, try to send it anyway!”

She shoved the piece of paper in front of the younger woman and pointed to the message she wished to send, line-by-line, as though Maevaris might struggle to read it herself.

\---

_The pretty guard you have run off with is a spy. Confirmed by multiple sources._

_He is the child of slaves I had imprisoned for stealing from us many years ago._

_Do not trust him. He is out for revenge against our family._

_I’ve reached out to some of the other Magisters for help and they have sent several of their own search parties out to find you, while I wait at Skyhold for your arrival._

_Please return home if you can. Preferably alive, with some dignity left._

_If I have to, I will drag you back to Tevinter myself._

 

_Regards,_

_Your Mother_

_\---_


	9. The City of Chains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn and the search party head to Kirkwall to check in with Scout Harding and their other contacts in the city regarding Dorian's wherabouts. Some difficult conversations are had.

“So...this means we _have_ to go back to Kirkwall?” Hawke looked like she was on the verge of a temper tantrum as Evelyn read the letter from Scout Harding aloud to them.

“Yes,” Evelyn nodded. “Immediately.”

“I hope at least _you’re_ happy, Fenris!” Hawke made a pouty face at him and crossed her arms belligerently. “This is probably your doing, isn’t it?! ‘Agents of _Fen_ ’harel,’ _Fen_ -ris…coincidence? I think not!”

Merrill looked curiously at Hawke. “But Fen’harel is the Elvhen god of betrayal. Fenris would never --”

Anders scoffed, “ _Ha_!” and Fenris scowled at him.

Evelyn exhaled impatiently. “Yes. We’ve already heard an awful lot about the Dread Wolf.” She looked knowingly over to Cullen and Bull. “It seems the whole ‘betrayal’ thing was a bit complicated.” She clasped her hands behind her back and began talking strangely, with an uncharacteristic air of superiority that made the two of them snicker. “He was also, apparently, the god of rebellion. A hero to many ancient elves whom he freed from slavery to the Evanuris…”

She trailed off then, and turned abruptly, eyeing Fenris with suspicion. Whatever the joke was, she had suddenly decided to abandon it.

Fenris met her stare, and explained,“I was given this name by someone who intended it as a joke. I have no delusions of godhood, nor a desire to manage a vast network of spies.”

“Maker! I was just kidding!” Hawke moved defensively next to him. “You don’t _actually_ think Fenris has anything to do with Dorian’s disappearance, I hope?” 

Evelyn raised a dangerously inquisitive eyebrow. “What is it that had pulled you away from Kirkwall, Fenris?”

“Retribution.” He met her questioning with an unnerving sort of calm, choosing his words very carefully.

Anders smiled knowingly. Certainly not _Justice_ or _Vengeance_. Though 'retribution' was a good substitute.

Bull peered curiously at him. “Could you be more specific?”

“Decapitating and ripping vital organs out of slavers’ bodies...mostly.”

Varric laughed nervously. “That settles it, then! Dorian isn’t a slaver, and as far as we know, he still has all his organs. And his head. Seems like Scout Harding would’ve mentioned otherwise. Shall we head to Kirkwall?”

But Evelyn continued to glare at him. “You were a slave in Tevinter, right? Before you came to Kirkwall?”

“Yes.”

Hawke looked far more offended than Fenris at her questioning.

Evelyn ignored her, refusing to look away from him. “Who was your master? A friend of the Pavus family, perhaps?”

“Yes, actually. And I killed him.”

Hawke’s eyes were beginning to dart back and forth between them, her arms tense and her hands ready to reach for her daggers behind her, eyeing Varric and Merrill and even Anders, knowing they were with her should it come to that, and trying not to think about Cullen or Bull probably preparing reluctantly for the same fight behind Evelyn.

“Surely, all of Tevinter’s nobility is complicit in the slave trade to some degree. Dorian’s family had slaves. Why stop with your master?”

Hawke opened her mouth to protest again, but Fenris held up a gauntleted hand and stepped forward, staring directly into Evelyn’s intimidating gaze as Cullen quietly placed a hand on the hilt of his sword behind her.

“I didn’t. I killed his apprentice, my most dedicated torturer, as well. And I’ve killed dozens of slavers since.”

“Dorian’s father, too…?”

“No. He was one of the few who spoke out against what Danarius and his lackeys did to me, refusing to take part in the ritual that robbed me of my memories, of my whole life up to that point, and made me into this.” 

His markings suddenly lit up, a demonstration of his power, but also his vulnerability as he winced a little at the pain, physical _and_ emotional, that still always came with it. 

Evelyn’s eyes widened. She felt the Anchor buzzing in her hand, reacting to the raw magic, increasing from an irritating tingle to a full-blown jolt that travelled up to her elbow. She’d heard about Fenris’ abilities, and read Varric’s accounts of him in the _Tale of the Champion_ , but she’d assumed much of that was embellished. Feeling the power of the activated lyrium etched all over his body, though, she wondered if that part of the book, at least, was true.

As his lyrium markings faded, Fenris took a deep breath, and then continued, “I do not know Dorian enough to know if I would like him or despise him, though I imagine we would not see eye-to-eye on many things. But I bear him and his family no personal grudge.”

Evelyn’s eyes narrowed on him even more intensely, searching his face for any sign of deceit, while everyone else seemed to be holding their breath.

“I believe you.” She nodded, finally.

Hawke’s entire body relaxed, and Varric let out an audible sigh of relief. Cullen and Bull nodded approvingly at Fenris as if they’d been rooting for him to make his case all along, while Anders tried to look unaffected.

Merrill smiled broadly and clapped her hands in celebration. “Do me next! Ask me if I did it!”

“Daisy…no.” Varric shook his head, trying to hide his smile from Evelyn.

She looked incredulously at Varric, then at Hawke, who wasn’t making _any_ attempt to hide her own amusement.

“Daisy’s harmless,” Varric reassured her.

“Hey!”

“Ok, well not _harmless_. She can make the earth swallow you up or command a tree to impale you if she wants. But I’m confident she didn’t kidnap or murder Dorian, either. At least not on purpose.”

“Awwww...thank you, Varric!” Merrill beamed at him.

“Checks out, Boss. The witch isn’t hiding anything,” Bull nodded and then winked at Merrill, causing her to blush.

Evelyn rolled her eyes at them all, and wondered why the Maker wished to punish her with such a ridiculous group of companions.

“Still back to Kirkwall, then?” Hawke asked hesitantly, holding out hope that they might be able to avoid the city, her home, and her responsibilities, for just a little while longer.

“YES!” Evelyn snapped at her, and stormed off to pack up her things.

...

The journey from Cumberland took them just short of five days, pushing themselves and their mounts as hard as they could, and stopping to rest for only a few hours each night. Evelyn and Cullen were an incredibly efficient team when it came to setting up their tent and taking full advantage of the limited time to rest. The others, however, seemed to struggle more and more the closer they got to home.

“Oooooh, look!” Merrill cooed, as she laid her bedroll out on the ground. “There’s a Dread Moon rising over the Vinmarks tonight!”

“A what?” Hawke asked, still struggling to set up her tent. Fenris had accused her of being incapable of doing so, and she’d insisted on doing it herself tonight out of a stubborn desire to prove him wrong.

“It’s what the Keeper used to call it when a full blood moon rose near the constellation Fenrir…” Merrill reminisced. “You know, ‘the wolf’...over there!” She pointed to the cluster of stars just above the giant reddish moon.

Hawke turned her head sideways, then tried in the other direction. “I don’t see a wolf.”

“You don’t see his cute little snout? His seven beady little eyes? His long bushy tail?”

“You had _me_ at cute little snout…” Anders smirked at Fenris, who was doing his best to ignore him while he stood, arms crossed, waiting, as instructed, for Hawke to set up their tent on her own.

“So this portends some kind of disaster, I take it?” Fenris sighed.

“Well, no. Not unless you believe in that sort of thing…” Merrill looked back quizzically at him.

“Do you, Fenris? Do you believe in the Dread Moon curse?!” Anders’ eyes were wide and his tone was full of mockery.

“I believe you promised to return to your cave once Cullen had been healed…” he muttered.

“And Varric promised to help me find Justice.”

“Oh yeah! What did the Kid say about that?”

“Just a bunch of vague stuff before helping me heal Cullen. Not nearly as helpful as you might think for a spirit of compassion…”

Merrill frowned. “He told you to forgive yourself. You promised him you’d do that, remember?”

“Wow, imagine that. You not following through on something...” Fenris drawled.

“Oh, please spare me your hypocrisy!” Anders gathered up his bedroll and began to walk away from them.

“Wait...forgive _yourself_ ?” Hawke had pretty much abandoned her efforts with the tent. “It seems like the whole rest of the world has...how have _you_ not?”

Anders gave her an exhausted eye roll before wandering off into the dark with an audible sigh.

Hawke looked to Merrill, who looked suddenly wounded. “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have brought it up! I just...”

“Oh no, Daisy. You should. Blondie needs to hear it from _somebody_. Better you than...well, anyone else, really.”

“But he’s our friend! We need to help him. The spirit... _Cole_...he said that Justice left because he thought we might forgive him if he did. So it’s our fault, really, that he’s so unhappy!”

“Yeah, fine...I guess.” Varric shrugged, sounding unconvinced, as he turned his attention back to helping with setting up the tent he and Bull had been sharing since Fenris had joined Hawke in his.

Fenris, meanwhile, had been quietly watching Anders as he walked off into the forest, grumbling animatedly to himself.

“Someone going to go after the Healer?” Bull asked.

“I’ll talk to him,” Fenris said.

Everyone turned and stared at him in shock.

“ _You_?” Hawke asked in disbelief.

“Yes.”

Hawke continued to stare at him for a moment, trying to decide if this was some kind of deadpan joke, something she didn’t quite get. But when he stared back at her just as intensely, without a hint of sarcasm or wickedness, she nodded. “Ok. Yeah. Alright.”

“Good luck, Broody!” Varric called as Fenris disappeared into the darkness after the mage. Then he turned and gave Hawke a pitiful look. “Really...let me help you with that tent. This is embarrassing.”

“Promise not to tell Fenris?”

“Yeah...” he chuckled.

...

“You know Merrill is trying to help you,” Fenris said, as he caught up with Anders. “Right?”

“And what are you trying to do? Make me feel worse?”

“No. Just trying to help you see past your idiotic self-loathing, I guess.”

“Oh, please...you hate yourself as much as I do!”

“Yes, and I...I’ve actually been working on that. It’s easier with friends, I’ve found.”

“Friends? How nice for you. Varric certainly seems to think I should be dead. Hawke gets irritated with me every time I speak. And if _she_ feels that way, Maker knows what you must think of me. And every time I so much as _think_ of the possibility of running into Aveline, I think I might die of a heart attack.”

“If any of us _actually_ wanted you dead, you’d be dead.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Anders muttered.

“Give Varric and the others some time. He loves his Maker-forsaken city. But it’s better now, whether he would like to give you any of the credit for that or not. The whole _world_ is better off because of what you set in motion.”

Anders was speechless. He had expected Fenris to tell him to get his shit together or leave, just like he had five years ago. He was certainly not expecting _this_. And he hadn’t prepared a defense for the unlikely scenario in which Fenris admitted he was actually _right_ about something.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t see that before,” he continued. “We all just thought you’d gone insane, lost control...and to me, personally, it felt like you’d cheated.”

“ _Cheated_?” Anders was confused. “At what?”

“I was doing everything I could to keep my anger in check, to keep from lashing out about all the things that had been done to me, and then there you went, blowing up the Chantry. I could only imagine how _good_ it must’ve felt, and I was jealous, really. Killing Hadriana,” he growled, “then Danarius...hadn’t felt like enough.” 

Fenris stopped himself. He took a deep breath, and his whole body, which had gotten tense as he spoke of his former torturers, relaxed. “But I’ve come to realize, even after losing count of how many slavers we’ve killed over the years, that nothing could have been enough back then. I thought it was about revenge for you, too, because that’s all I really understood. But I see now...it was bigger than that.”

“I don’t know…” Anders whispered. “With Justice, I was so certain that what I did was right. That what we were working towards justified it all. But without him...I don’t know who I am and why I’m even still here.” 

“Well, it turns out, you’re still a pretty decent healer. Even _Cullen_ can appreciate that.”

Anders glared at him. “I was prepared to die for my actions, for _Justice_. But then Hawke...she spared _my_ life. I still don’t know why. I have spent a lot of time being angry at her for that. For forcing me to live with my actions...with myself. When she _knew_...she knew that deep down, I was a coward! And that this fate for me would be far worse than death!”

Fenris was quiet, collecting his thoughts, choosing his words more carefully now than he had been before, because he knew he needed to get this part right if there was ever going to be any hope of reconciliation among his friends. “Hawke didn’t do it to punish you. She did it because she _couldn’t_ kill you, Anders.” He didn’t like speaking for others, but the two of them would probably _never_ have this conversation on their own. “None of us could. You were...you _are_ , above all else, our friend.”

Anders looked at him, wishing he could argue. Wishing he could think of something mean or spiteful to say in response. But the corners of his eyes were filling up with tears, and if he so much as opened his mouth to speak, he was sure he would suddenly be sobbing in the arms of someone he had convinced himself utterly despised him.

Fenris’ eyes softened a little when he realized the message was finally starting to sink in, and that very nearly broke Anders anyway. 

But thankfully, Fenris spoke again, giving him a reprieve. “I remember what it was like to be alone, to be alive when I didn’t want to be, or at least didn’t think I deserved to be. I wasted nearly a decade convincing myself I had to keep others away. Try not to be as stubborn and stupid as I was.”

“But Fenris…” Anders was still staring earnestly at him. But the tears in his amber eyes had turned into mischief. “...that’d be impossible!” His mouth curled into an obnoxious little grin, and it took all of Fenris’ willpower not to hit him.

“Yes, fine. Deflect with your shitty sardonic humor." He smiled. "I suppose I walked right into that, didn’t I?”

Anders laughed feebly, more relieved than amused. “You _are_ a bit out of practice, it seems.”

...

The group tried not to draw too much attention as they traversed the marshlands between the Planasene Forest and Kirkwall proper, but the people living there recognized their Champion and put two-and-two together enough to realize that they were in the midst of the Herald of Andraste, as well -- the first from Ferelden, a refugee in Kirkwall much like themselves, and the other a native Free Marcher, who’d come to call Ferelden her home. They represented different ends of the spectrum of the unreachable dreams of the people trapped here. Nevertheless, they were out in the streets, chokedamp be damned, cheering and applauding the pair of them as though they’d just saved them from another Blight. 

Hawke, beaming, glanced proudly over at Evelyn, who caught herself grinning and hoped no one else had noticed how much she was enjoying being celebrated again. They proceeded into the city, leaving most of their welcome party behind, and it was Varric’s turn to be the favorite.

“Inquisitor! Good to see you…” Harding looked surprised to see so many unrecognizable faces surrounding Evelyn. “And er, it seems you’ve recruited some additional agents along the way?”

“Agents?!” Anders balked. “I don’t remember agreeing to serve as anyone’s _agent_!”

“I mean...technically, we're all just arriving back home.” Hawke looked back apologetically at Anders who was doing his best to still look offended. “Most of us, anyway, at some point...”

“We’re just returning them, then,” Evelyn said, with a smirk.

“I see…” The group was a lot to take in for someone like Harding, who was incredibly attentive and prided herself on being able to remember a face. Her eyes darted quickly over the people she knew and lingered on those she did not. Two elves. One Dalish, judging by her facial tattoos. One clearly...not. They matched the descriptions of Hawke’s companions, Merrill and Fenris, from Varric’s book. A weathered mage, in need of a bath. And a sandwich. Make that a dozen sandwiches. Could this really have been Anders, the mage who blew up the Kirkwall Chantry? If so, Varric’s descriptions of him, and moreover, the legends that were told by free mages all across Ferelden, had made him seem so much... _more_.

Evelyn was eager for news. “What can you tell us about Dorian?”

“He arrived with one other person, an elven archer, a few days ago, visited the Hawke estate briefly looking for the Champion…" Harding nodded toward Hawke.

"Nice! I'm flattered that he'd think to visit!"

"Then they made their way to a tavern where they rented a room.”

“So we’ll just go and meet them there?” Evelyn asked, hopefully.

“Well, it appears they stayed overnight, and then they just...disappeared. Nobody has seen any trace of them since then.”

“Shit,” Varric muttered.

“Yeah...” It was rare that Harding or her contacts ever just lost track of someone like this, and if she wasn’t such a consummate professional, confident in her own skills, she might have even been embarrassed.

“Do you think the Venatori could have found them and taken him back to Tevinter?” Evelyn asked, biting her lip anxiously to distract her from the pain shooting up her arm. If so, then they'd wasted their time coming to Kirkwall.

Harding shook her head. “There have been no reports of any unusual movement out of the city, and no Venatori, that we know of.”

“Well, is there anyone else who could have taken Dorian?”

“I dunno...underground blood mages?” Hawke shrugged.

Fenris shook his head. "Why? To teach them how it’s done in Tevinter?"

“Not helpful, Broody…”

“Rogue Templars?” Cullen suggested.

"Nah! They're no match for Sparkler…"

“What if they --” Harding began to speculate.

But Merrill suddenly chimed in, “Qunari, maybe?”

And Bull just laughed. She looked up at him apologetically.

"What about these ‘Agents of Fen'harel’...?" Evelyn asked.

“Excuse me, Inquisitor...” Harding’s tone was sharp. Sharp enough to silence the rest of them instantly.

“Yes...?” Evelyn demanded impatiently.

Harding took a deep breath. “Sorry...it’s just...it’s possible nobody took him. Maybe they’re just hiding? Waiting somewhere for you or the Champion or somebody to come find them?”

“Here? But you said nobody had seen any trace of them for days!”

“Well, I know if _I_ thought the Venatori or some other group of people were after me, I’d probably do all that I could to keep from being recognized. There may be tunnels or ways of getting around that our agents here aren’t monitoring.”

Hawke looked at Varric knowingly, and smiled. “It’s a good thing you’ve got us, then.” 

Varric rolled his eyes at her, trying not to encourage her for once. He hated being underground as much as anyone, and the old mining tunnels and caverns under Kirkwall were even more claustrophobic and unpleasant than the worst parts of the Deep Roads.

“ _We’ve_ explored every filthy sewer, every festering underground cesspool or tunnel overrun by giant spiders or dragonspawn or undead corpses that this city has, and believe me, there are a lot of them!”

Fenris glanced over at Anders, who had become unusually quiet. 

He looked back at him, a hint of dismay...the tiniest glimpse of an apology, perhaps. 

Fenris nodded, but Anders looked away quickly.

"What do you say, Degenerates?" Hawke asked triumphantly. "An expedition through the undercity for old time's sake?"

“Let’s try to exhaust all of our other options first?” Varric beseeched her. “We know people who aren’t reporting everything to the Inquisition.”

Evelyn looked at him, a hint of betrayal in her eyes, but she knew. His loyalty, if it ever came down to having to choose, was with his city and its Champion.

“Ok, _fine_!” Hawke acquiesced, sounding more like a teenager than a woman in her mid-thirties. “ _You_ can head over to the Hanged Man to see if Corff or Edwina or any of your other tavern contacts know anything, and I’ll head to Hightown and check in with all our other friends and relations.”

Evelyn seemed to approve of this plan. At least it was _something_. “I’ll go with Varric. Cullen, you go to Hightown with Hawke. Everyone else...I don’t care, so long as you are all back here by noon.”

“Oh, I almost forgot! This is for you, Commander.” Harding handed Cullen a rolled up piece of paper. “Just arrived from the Seeker yesterday. She asked that it remain confidential. Just between the two of you.”

Evelyn peered over Cullen’s shoulder, intrigued, as he quickly scanned the letter:

\---

_Cullen,_

_Your dog has been responding well to a bit of discipline and is proving to be worthy of its breed’s reputation. I have also put him on a rigorous training regimen and he is looking much healthier after just a few weeks. When you return, I will provide thorough instructions for you to continue his training._

_Sincerely,_

_Cassandra_

_P.S. I’m sure he misses you. He whines at the door to your office every time we pass by on our morning jogs around the ramparts. I have been giving him my own leftovers in order to win him over. It is a weakness. But he is such a good boy, after all._

\---

Fenris went with Hawke and Cullen to check in with Orana and Bethany and Aveline, while Bull opted to head to the Hanged Man with Varric and Evelyn. Merrill offered to go see if anyone in the Alienage had seen or heard anything useful, and Anders decided to tag along, hoping to avoid any awkward confrontations with the residents of Kirkwall most likely to want him dead. They hadn’t had much luck learning anything, let alone getting anyone to answer their doors. And Anders was beginning to regret coming back to the city altogether.

“Ghosts and painful memories. Old things, but there are also different, changed, new things."

"Cole?!" Merrill turned around to see the spirit-boy coalescing next to Anders.

"The new things are like scars. Reminders of old wounds."

“Go away, spirit!” Anders tried to shrug him off, elbowing him, even, but he wasn’t completely solid. At least not when he didn’t want to be.

"Old, festering wounds sometimes _need_ to be lanced in order to heal…" Merrill said, looking at Anders intently.

Cole nodded at her, smiling. “We are both here to help.”

“Yes, yes...I know,” Anders said impatiently, sighing in resignation as Cole, more spirit than boy now, curled himself around him, and Merrill tucked her little arm snugly into his.

“Can you help us find Dorian?” Merrill asked, looking up at the ephemeral creature perched on top of Anders’ shoulders.

Cole shook his head. “He does not need my kind of help. Not yet.”

“But _I_ do?” Anders huffed.

“You have not done what you promised. He waits and he watches from the other side…”

“Who?!” Anders demanded.

Merrill looked expectantly at Anders. He knew who. They both knew.

“This is ridiculous! I didn’t ask you for _this_ kind of help, either.”

“No...he did.”

Anders' eyes lit up for just a moment before he furrowed his brow in consternation again and shouted, “Enough!” He nudged Merrill away and shook Cole off of him. The spirit seemed to evaporate and disappear. “Are we done here?”

Merrill looked around. “Here?”

“The Alienage? Is there anyone else you’d like to ask about Dorian?”

“Oh, no. I didn’t really think about how people here might react to us asking about a mage from Tevinter…”

“I’m sure my presence didn’t help.” Anders turned and looked at what remained of the Vhenadahl. 

He had never intended any harm to the tree or the elves in the Alienage. He thought he'd done everything he could to focus his attack on the Chantry and its leadership and to spare innocent lives. But a piece of it had apparently found its way here in the blast, as, he was realizing, other chunks of exploded Chantry had all over the city. He had heard varying reports of the death counts and far-ranging damages his explosion had caused over the years, but seeing it up close, for himself, without Justice there to assure him it was all worth it, was hard.

“Oh, I hadn’t thought about that…” Merrill murmured, following his gaze up to the buds that were emerging from new growth on the side of the tree that had somehow survived. She had had some part in nurturing and reviving it upon her return, the closest thing to _healing_ she’d done and ever really been proud of.

“They are afraid,” spirit Cole hummed through the air. “But the tree has new growth. There is hope. They just do not wish to lose it all again.”

"Then let's leave," Anders said brusquely, turning back toward the stairs that led toward Lowtown.

…

By the time everyone had gathered back together at noon in Lowtown, it seemed inevitable that they were headed into the tunnels and caves that Hawke had so readily volunteered to navigate them through earlier that morning. 

Hawke, Cullen, and Fenris had checked in with Aveline, Bethany, and Carver, who was still in town for one more day with a newly-minted _Warden_ Thom Rainier. They were recruiting on behalf of their cousin, the Hero of Ferelden and her small splinter group of Wardens, after the in-fighting at Weisshaupt over Solona’s suggested ‘cure’ had further divided the Order. No one had heard or seen anything that might have led them to Dorian, though. They still managed to snag some coffee and cinnamon buns from Orana, one of the Inquisition’s most valued agents in Kirkwall, so as to avoid returning empty-handed.

Evelyn and Varric and Bull hadn’t been able to glean any new information at the Hanged Man or among Varric’s other Lowtown contacts, either. By all accounts, it seemed as though they’d simply disappeared from their room in the Hanged Man the morning after they arrived. They’d left behind most of their possessions, including their horses, all of which Corff was preparing to sell to the highest bidder when they’d arrived. Evelyn had ended up negotiating a fair price for them, but even a sack full of gold couldn’t elicit any new details about their friends’ whereabouts.

By mid-afternoon, they’d been trudging through sewage for a couple of hours, growing more and more frustrated with every turn, as every new waft of stench threatened to utterly defeat them, when a familiar voice called out from the shadows ahead of them.

“Well, well, well...didn’t realize _you_ were back in town! Must’ve missed the parades this time. But isn’t mucking about down here in the undercity pretty ig _noble_ of you, _Lady_ Hawke?”

Hawke laughed, a little awkwardly. “Oh, hey Athenril...how are _you_? It’s been...too long.”

The elven rogue looked beyond Hawke at the extensive and eclectic entourage following her, some familiar faces, and some she didn’t know. “You all wouldn’t happen to be looking for a mouthy ‘Vint and his elven bodyguard?”

“What do you know about them?” Evelyn demanded, sloshing her way to the front of the group.

“They told me not to tell…” Athenril smiled temptingly.

Hawke stepped up next to Evelyn. “We are trying to find them before...I don’t really know. Before something bad happens…?” She turned to Evelyn, who rolled her eyes, then turned and nodded fiercely at Athenril.

"Too late for that, I’m afraid. Saw them at the Hanged Man a few nights ago...you know how rowdy that crowd gets at night! And how much we hate the ‘Vints. Angry mob probably ran them out of town.”

"We know they haven’t left the city,” Evelyn insisted, unfazed.

"Then I guess you know everything, then, don’t you?"

Evelyn felt the Anchor growing hotter in the palm of her hand as she clenched her fists in agitation. Athenril winked at her and turned her attention to Cullen, who was shifting uneasily behind her.

“Long time no see, Knight-Captain...” She smirked.

“That’s not my title anymore…”

“Oh, shit. That’s right! No more Templars, no more Knight-Captain Cullen S. Rutherford!”

“No, he’s Inquisition _Commander_ Cullen S. Rutherford-Trevelyan now,” Evelyn said through gritted teeth.

This didn’t help. Cullen’s cheeks went red and he looked down at the ground as Athenril “hmm”ed at them.

In the most sickeningly saccharine voice she could manage, Hawke made one final appeal to the smuggler’s hard-won kindness. "Please, Athenril?"

Evelyn had never seen Hawke like this before. It might have disgusted her a little, except that it seemed to actually work on the woman.

“Okay, but only for _you_ , Hawke. We don't bow to the hairy eyeballs down here in the undercity, and I still have a bone to pick with that _dwarf_ …” She pointed at Varric, who had been trying to stay out of it in hopes she’d forget their unsettled business.

“I’m sure it can all be settled the next time we play cards, Pokey.”

Athenril’s agreeableness vanished as quickly as it had come. “You know how much I hate that nickname!” She seethed at him.

“I’m kidding! C’mon...for old times’ sake?”

“No more nicknames.”

“Fine. It’s a deal.” He stretched his hand out to her.

“Good,” Athenril nodded approvingly at him, and shook his hand, then turned smugly back toward Evelyn. “They wanted to get to the Black Emporium unnoticed, so I helped smuggle them across town.”

“Why?” Cullen asked, failing to understand how a trip to the Black Emporium made any sense in their situation. According to Evelyn, it was just a bunch of useless crap. Not worth the effort of getting there, or enduring Xenon’s madness.

“I don’t know. Your mage was looking for someone who might be able to repair or replace his necklace or something...”

“His message crystal! That explains why we haven’t been able to get ahold of him,” Evelyn realized. “But Dagna’s the only one he ever trusted to enchant or repair it. He must be desperate!”

“What can you tell us about his bodyguard?” Bull asked, never one to waste an information-gathering opportunity.

Athenril shrugged. “He’s an elf. He’s cute. Not _my_ type, but I don’t think I’m his, either. Very protective of your friend. But it seemed like they’d had a bit of a falling out. Rather snippy with one another. I suppose that’s what happens when you mix work with pleasure...” She looked disapprovingly at Cullen and Evelyn.

“You’re keeping something from us, Athenril.” Varric pointed a finger at her. “I know all your tells, remember? And rambling is one of them.”

“This doesn’t concern you! And I’m keeping it to myself because I value my life and my livelihood more than our monthly card games.”

“If you know something that might help us find him…” Evelyn growled, her fists balled up at her sides again.

“I just told you where they are, didn’t I?! Now if you don’t mind, I’m a very busy woman, and I have a whole shipment of questionable cargo to unload before you lot go off tattling on me to the Guard-Captain.”

“As a sign of our gratitude, we’ll hold off on mentioning it to her for a couple days,” Hawke promised, with a wink.

Athenril smiled fondly at her. “I’m glad at least _you_ still remember who to thank for where you are today, Serah!” She waved, then ducked down one of the passages leading toward the Docks. 

“I don’t trust her,” Evelyn announced, as soon as she was sure Athenril was out of earshot.

“Good!” Varric laughed. “You absolutely shouldn’t.”

Hawke snorted. “Awww...she’s not so bad. Was the best boss _I_ ever had, anyway!”

“You worked for her?” Evelyn looked surprised.

“Yeah. Bethany and I both worked for her. Aveline and Carver worked for her competition, Meeran. It was the only way anyone would let us into the city during the Blight. Athenril and Meeran paid the bribes for us in exchange for one year of our services. We took turns selling the other side’s secrets to each other’s bosses.”

“Nice!” Bull grinned in admiration.

“Stupid…” Varric was shaking his head, but smiling proudly nonetheless.

“But isn’t your family part of the nobility here?”

Hawke laughed. “You sound just like Mother did when we arrived!”

“I don’t understand…”

“Hawke’s uncle had gambled away the family’s fortunes, including their estate, while his sister ran off to Ferelden to marry her beloved mage and start a family. Without money or property in Kirkwall, you lose whatever privileges come with being so-called ‘nobility’...”

“So then...the estate you live in now...all your wealth and influence here…?”

“Had to earn it back the hard way,” Hawke declared, puffing out her chest.

Varric chuckled, completely ruining all of her bravado.

“Okay, so I got pretty lucky. The expedition to the Deep Roads with the Tethras brothers certainly helped. And I had a lot of help from the rest of these assholes, too.”

 “I thought you said you read the book, Rifty?!”

Evelyn only looked a little bit guilty. “I skimmed a lot of it. Especially the parts about household finances and Hawke’s family drama…” She turned to Hawke apologetically. “Sorry.”

“It’s all good. I find that stuff pretty exhausting myself.” Hawke smiled awkwardly. Fenris, who had come to stand close behind her, surreptitiously reached for her hand and squeezed it.

“I liked the fight scenes, though!”

“Fenris actually helped quite a bit with writing those,” Varric informed her, pulling Fenris out from behind Hawke.

Fenris grimaced. “I didn’t really…”

Anders snorted from behind them.

“He said I used too many flowery words...that it interrupted the _flow_ of the action.”

“Well, I was _right_ , wasn’t I?”

“Of course!” Varric laughed. “My publisher wanted to list him as a co-author after all of his _suggested_ revisions, but Broody refused.”

Cullen cleared his throat. “So how do we get to the Black Emporium from here?”

“Right!” Hawke grinned excitedly. “Follow me!”


	10. The Broken Mirrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The search party angers an already-cranky Xenon, and has to find some OTHER way of getting to Dorian.

Evelyn stopped and stared at the golem’s broken body strewn across the ground for just a moment, before stepping over it and pressing on.

“Hm. I always wondered if golems bled,” Hawke mused, walking up behind her and poking what was left of the golem’s arm with one of her daggers.

“Is it soft on the inside?” Merrill said curiously, daring to get even closer and peering down into the rock-like structure that had most likely been its torso.

“Let me see...” Hawke reached towards the arm, but Fenris swatted her hand away.

"Could we try to focus a little? Evelyn is already gone.” He nodded ahead to where she was already halfway up the swaying rope bridge that led to Xenon’s collection of bizarre artifacts and antiquities. Cullen, Bull, and Varric were chasing close behind her.

Hawke sighed, and tried to kick a giant stone arm out of her way. “Fuck!” she cursed, as she only really succeeded in stubbing her toe.

“Need me to look at that, Hawke?” Anders laughed, watching her hop up and down like an idiot.

“No! Fuck! Ow!”

“Come along, children...” Fenris rolled his eyes and took off after the rest of the group.

Merrill and Anders followed him, leaving Hawke muttering in their wake.

...

“DORIAN!” Evelyn stormed into the center of the Emporium. The coppery smell of freshly-spilled blood and dark magic still lingered in the air.

“WELCOME BACK, INQUISITOR! I SEE YOU BROUGHT SOME FRIENDS THIS TIME, TOO!” Xenon, or at least, his disembodied voice, said gleefully, as though it was perfectly normal for his shop to be covered in blood splatters and dead bodies. “OH...I SEE IT’S JUST THE CHAMPION AND HER _AWFUL_ FRIENDS…” he said, sounding a little disappointed.

“Where is Dorian?!” Evelyn demanded, kicking aside a corpse she thought she might have recognized from some ambassadorial function a few months ago.

“AHH, DORIAN WAS HIS NAME? CHAUNCEY THOUGHT HE WAS VERY TASTY...HAHAHA!” The cruel laughter echoed from the creepy mummy in the giant glass case at the center of the space into the darkness that surrounded the platform.

“Chauncey!” Hawke shouted, calling the little bear over, whom she had a great fondness for. “Did _you_ eat the fancy mage?”

“Are you trying to tell me that thing ate Dorian?” Bull said, staring at the creature in utter disbelief.

“HE HAS A STRONG BITE, QUNARI! DO NOT HURT HIM, HE IS VERY RARE!”

“Come off it! Where is he?!” Cullen snapped, coming closer to the encased corpse, looking desperately at the remains of several other people, none of which could be identified as Dorian.

“WHAT IS THIS? A TEMPLAR IN MY SHOP?! GET OUT BEFORE I MAKE YOU A PERMANENT FIXTURE!”

“I’m NOT a Templar...” he huffed, trying to figure out where the voice was coming from, and who to direct his frustration at. “Not anymore!”

“He wasn’t a very good Templar, anyway,” Fenris chimed in behind them. Anders let out a little noise, trying to stifle a giggle.

“ONCE A TEMPLAR, ALWAYS A TEMPLAR!”

Cullen threw his hands up and walked away from the desiccated body, shooting a look at Fenris. “I was a damned good Templar. And you would’ve probably made an even better one yourself!”

Fenris looked back at him with a curious smile. He couldn’t decide if that was meant to be a compliment or an insult. And Cullen didn’t look too sure, either.

“WATCH YOURSELF TEMPLAR! I WON’T HAVE YOU BREAKING MY WARES. YOU ALL ARE QUITE CLUMSY IN ALL THAT ARMOR YOU WEAR TO MASK YOUR INSECURITIES...”  
  
“Are you joking? I’m nowhere near your junk!”

“ _EXCUSE_ me!” Evelyn shouted, just as loudly as Xenon, clicking her fingers in the air to get everyone’s attention. “Where is my friend, can we talk about that for a minute, please?”

“YOUR FRIEND HAS GONE THROUGH THE MIRROR. YOU WON’T SEE HIM ANY TIME SOON. THOSE BOTHERSOME VISITORS BROKE IT TRYING TO GO AFTER HIM, AND MY _WORTHLESS_ URCHIN CAN’T SEEM TO FIX IT. OR ANYTHING ELSE FOR THAT MATTER. PROBABLY TIME FOR A NEW ONE...” he grumbled.  
  
“What do you mean ‘through the mirror?’” Evelyn said, frowning. 

“Ooh! It _is_ an Eluvian, then?!” Merrill said, excitedly. She ran to the mirror, examining the faint ripples that appeared as she approached. There were several cracks, though, and she couldn’t seem to get the reflection into focus. She ran her fingers lightly over the broken glass and watched intently as tiny droplets of blood pooled from the little cuts in her fingertips.

“DO NOT GET YOUR BLOODY FINGERPRINTS ON MY MIRROR OF TRANSFORMATION, WITCH! IT WAS VERY HARD TO ACQUIRE.”

Merrill jumped back. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I thought maybe if I --”

Hawke and Varric both shook their heads at her, and she backed away. 

“Not here, Daisy…”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” she whispered, staring longingly at the mirror. 

Anders reached for her hand and cast a quick healing spell to stop the bleeding and she smiled gratefully up at him.

“Wait, an _Eluvian_?” Evelyn huffed, getting increasingly frustrated at people side tracking the conversation. “Like the one Morrigan had at Skyhold? Or in the Temple of Mythal?”

Merrill nodded, though she had no idea if it was like those other ones at all. “It’s definitely a portal to...some other place. But it is broken, I’m afraid.”

“This one peers through the Veil, to the things we wish to be…” Cole had miraculously appeared again, and was staring curiously at his broken reflection in the mirror.

“Ok, Xenon. How do we get through there?”

“OH, YOU? YOU DON’T! NO TEMPLARS ALLOWED!”

“I’m not a Templar!” Evelyn shouted. “Do you see my staff?!” She wondered, then, how he saw anything. It’s not like the mummy sitting petrified in front of her had functional eyes.

“YOU MARRIED A TEMPLAR. THAT IS BY FAR WORSE!”

“And I wasn’t a Templar _then_ , either! Officially, there _are_ no more Templars!” Cullen’s face had gone red and his fists were clenched as he shouted. He looked like he wanted to punch a hole in the glass case.

Evelyn shot Cullen a look, while Anders finally cracked and let out a hearty laugh, receiving filthy looks from everyone but Fenris, who avoided eye contact altogether in order to keep himself from looking too similarly amused with the whole situation.

“ALL THIS SHOUTING, AND YOU HAVE NOT EVEN THANKED ME FOR SAVING YOUR FRIEND FROM HIS ATTACKERS...”

“You haven’t _saved_ him. He still NEEDS saving and now we can’t get to him you great big mummified idiot!”

“SUCH A SHAME, INQUISITOR. YOU’RE USUALLY SO POLITE...URCHIN, MAKE YOURSELF USEFUL FOR ONCE, AND _PLEASE_ SHOW THEM OUT!”

“Merrill, couldn’t we just use the one you have?” Hawke chimed in, completely ignoring Xenon’s dramatic threats...and his urchin, who was hardly a match for any of them.

“THERE IS ONLY ONE, AND IT IS MINE!”

“Oh no. Merrill has one, too, don’t you?”

“Oh yes!” Merrill squealed. “Wait. But am I allowed to use it?”

“If it gets us to Dorian,” Hawke confirmed. “And if that doesn’t work, it sounds like there’s another one at Skyhold, and in some temple somewhere…?”

“There was one in the Temple of Dirthamen, too!” Merrill added, excitedly.

“Yeah, seems like a pretty _common_ item, actually…”

“HOW DARE YOU! YOU ARE NO LONGER WELCOME HERE, EITHER!”

“Well then,” Cullen finally smiled, putting his arm around Merrill. “I guess we’ll just go to a more welcoming Eluvian, then. One that might actually _work_ , too...”

"I _know_ it will work!" Merrill declared proudly.

“WITCH!” Xenon screamed, causing the whole dark cave to shake. “YOU DON’T HAVE THE POWER! YOU DON’T KNOW THE SECRETS!”

“She’s an elf, you great shit! They invented them,” snapped Varric. “And she’s got more magical power in her pinky than you’ve got in...oh, I dunno...your whole dried-up old gross body.”

“It’s ok, Varric! I finally get to use my mirror!” Merrill said gleefully, practically skipping as she made her way back down the rickety rope bridge.

“Yeah...hooray…” Varric drawled sarcastically.

As they all followed her back down the bridge in single file, Hawke waited behind, then sauntered back up to Xenon’s body, picking up the water bucket placed close by and tipping the contents onto the ground. “Just so you know, Xenon, I’m coming back for that bear, and if you’re lucky, you, too!”

“DO NOT UNDERESTIMATE ME, CHAMPION!”

“And don’t you worry, Chauncey!” She turned toward the little bear and gave him some parting scritches. “We’ll change your name when you come home with Fenris and I...”

“Hawke, shouldn’t we talk about this miniature bear we’re going to steal and raise as our own?” Fenris called back to her. “I hardly think it’s the same as a dog...”

“Absolutely not!”

…

Merrill had really put work into her apartment in the Alienage over the years. The kitchen and dining area were filled wall-to-wall with potion ingredients, odd trinkets she’d found an affinity for, including her own collection of tiny carved figurines, and a wall dedicated to her newest hobby, pressed flowers and herbs, which she hoped to sell at the markets, though the fact that the residents of Kirkwall probably weren’t all that interested in pressed flowers hadn’t occurred to her. Nonetheless, she told each of them to take one of her creations with them when it was all over.

“So...this is my Eluvian!” Merrill said proudly, showing Evelyn into the little bedroom in the back of her apartment.

“But it’s not in working order, either...?” Evelyn peered at the large cracks and missing pieces in the glass.

“Well...no. Not really...” She blushed a little. “I managed to remove the Darkspawn taint, though! And pieced together the whole thing all by myself. I just never activated it, because, well...not without…um...” Merrill stared down at the ground in dismay.  
  
“So it’s just a mirror?”

“I can make it work!” Merrill looked around to make sure nobody else could hear, then leaned in close to Evelyn, “Not everyone here may approve of my methods, though...” She turned her palms over, revealing old scars and nodded to a knife perched up high on a shelf in the corner of the room.

“Blood magic?” Evelyn whispered, astounded that someone as sweet and innocent as Merrill even knew _how_ to use blood magic.

“Yes, but it’s not what you think! I only use _my_ blood. And it’s not anything like the blood mages in Tevinter or the ones we had here back when things got real bad…” Her attention drifted off for a moment. “Still, I think only you and Hawke should be here while I do it. The others get uncomfortable, and I wouldn’t want anyone distracting me.”

“Ok. Whatever you think will work,” Evelyn nodded. “Let's just get started immediately.”

Evelyn pulled Hawke into the back room, and shooed everyone else out into the main living space of Merrill’s apartment, and made them promise not to enter unless they were specifically called for. She placed both a physical barricade and a magical one against the door so the ones who had trouble following directions, mainly _Cullen_ , couldn’t barge in and give Merrill a fright.

Merrill sat in front of the mirror, an assortment of herbs and candles surrounding her and an old, but very sharp, Dalish dagger in front of her. She took a deep breath and steadied herself, picking up the knife, but just as she was about to begin, Hawke tapped her on the shoulder.

“Wait just a moment Merrill. We’re about to be interrupted...” she said, shaking her head with a little smirk. 

" _“BLOOD MAGIC?! EVELYN TREVELYAN-RUTHERFORD, OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT NOW!”_ Cullen shouted from the other side of the door. They could also hear Bull and Varric trying their best to calm him down with little success.

“Trevelyan-Rutherford?” Hawke said, raising her brow. “You took _his_ name, too? How modern!”

“I’ll be even more modern when he's divorced me for this,” she chuckled. 

Hawke smiled. It was the first time she’d ever heard Evelyn make such an irreverent comment about her uptight husband, and she wondered...were they finally becoming _friends_?

Evelyn walked over to the door and called for Cullen’s attention. “I don’t plan on participating, Cullen! So if you could calm down and let Merrill do her thing, we’d all appreciate it.”

“Yeah, Cullen! If you’re a good boy, Trev might throw you a bone later!” Hawke chuckled. A string of obscenities came from behind the door and they heard him stomp off.

“All clear?”

“I think we’ll be able to talk him down!” Varric hollered. Hawke could picture the thumbs up and winning smile he was giving them through the door as Cullen grumbled to himself in the corner.

Merrill took another deep breath, slid the knife across her palm, and began to mutter to herself as Evelyn and Hawke watched on, ready to intervene if anything seemed to take an unsavory turn.

Merrill stood and pressed her palm against the mirror. For a brief moment, it seemed to come to life and both Evelyn and Hawke gasped as the ripples spread and a clear reflection, or rather, what should have been a reflection if it were just a regular mirror, came into focus. Several other Eluvians could be seen through the mirror. But as quick as the vision had appeared, it had vanished again, and the mirror was once again, just a broken mirror.

“I had it for a second!” Merrill muttered to herself, reaching for the knife and placing another deep cut into her hand. “I think I just need a little more blood...”

As she went back to whispering at the mirror, Evelyn felt a vibration in her hand. She looked down to see the green light of the Anchor pulsing. She nudged Hawke to show her. Hawke shrugged and continued to watch Merrill smudge blood all over the mirror, trying to get it to open again.

“It’s not working!” Merrill cried out in dismay. She’d managed to get her blood all over herself, the floor, and the mirror, and was on the verge of tears. Hawke ran up to her and pulled her away from the mirror. 

“Healer! We may need a little help here!” Evelyn called, while shoving the physical barrier away from the door and dismissing the magical one with a wave of her hand. 

Anders came busting through and rushed over to Merrill to assess the damage.

“Andraste’s ass!” he hissed, astonished by the amount of blood around her. “Were you just planning on letting her bleed out?!” He glared disapprovingly at both Evelyn and Hawke.

“It’s not so bad! It actually worked for a second! I _am_ feeling a bit woozy, though...” Merrill said, grinning up at Anders.

“Yes, well, you’ve lost quite a bit of blood. You should be ok if we can get this bandaged, but you’ll need to rest up. I’m afraid you don’t have much more to spare...”

“But the mirror! Everyone is counting on _me_ to make it work!”

“Daisy, listen to Blondie...nobody needs you to bleed to death,” Varric, who had followed Anders in to inspect the horrific scene, wrapped an arm around her waist and helped him steer her toward her bed.

Evelyn walked over to the mirror, her whole arm prickling and pulsating painfully as she got closer, like the magic of the Anchor was demanding to be given its chance to make it work.

“It recognizes the magic. It comes from the same time. The same place. Both are lost and far from home.”

“Cole…” Evelyn whispered to the spirit hovering just behind her. “Can I...will it work?”

Cole nodded. “He is waiting on the other side.”

Evelyn held her hand out and a blinding green flash engulfed the room, followed by a loud crack, like lightning, as the green light flooded through the rest of the little apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is pretty short, because otherwise, it would've been a 10k word chapter, and even WE won't do that to anyone. The next few chapters will all be pretty long, though...just a head's up!


	11. The Fade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To the FADE, where some familiar faces await...and back again.

“Maker’s breath, Evelyn!” Cullen shouted irritably, rubbing his eyes. “Can you at least give us a warning next time, so we don’t go blind?”

But as his eyes adjusted, he was completely dumbfounded by what he saw. The entire world had apparently been twisted and transformed around them.

“Not again...” Evelyn muttered, taking in her surroundings with a foreboding sense of familiarity.

“Oh fuck _this_!” Bull said angrily.

“The Fade...” whispered Anders, looking down at Merrill, who, thanks to Panacea, was snoozing soundly in his lap with a pleasant smile on her face as her body recovered from the loss of so much blood. 

The last time he’d entered the Fade on purpose, Justice had taken control to prevent him from being tempted by demons the way the others had. Well, everyone except Hawke, of course. He looked over toward Fenris, who looked about as happy as Bull to be suddenly transported to this place, and Varric, who was staring in shock at Merrill’s Eluvian, trying to figure out which side of it they were on.

“What did you _do_ , Evelyn?!” Cullen asked her accusingly.

Evelyn turned to the spirit beside her, who had become considerably more bright here, taking on a shimmery golden texture, with an even less defined physical form. “Cole...what _did_ I do?”

“Waiting...scared...lost…”

“You think they’re here, Kid?” Varric said, looking around nervously.

“Where is HERE?!” Cullen demanded.

“Cullen, please calm down…” Evelyn said, trying to sound reassuring, but it was no use.

“Calm down?! If this is where I think it is…”

“Yes, darling.” Evelyn rolled her eyes, having given up on being reassuring rather quickly. “We _are_ in the Fade…”

“ _Don’t_ call me that! It’s not cute. Not right now…” he huffed. “But more importantly, why would you... _how_ did you…?” He was pacing back and forth now. “First, blood magic. And now _this_! I don’t see how being trapped in the Fade helps _anyone_!”

“We’re not _trapped_...not _really_...” Evelyn held up her Anchor hand and nodded toward the Eluvian.

“You don’t even know how that thing works!” Cullen shouted, throwing his own hands up in the air.

The others had all been standing around awkwardly, waiting for the two of them to finish their quarreling before pointing out the spirits of anger and fear coalescing around them.

“He knows we are here…” Cole said, looking uncharacteristically fearful and wrapping himself around Varric.

“ _Who_?!” Cullen yelled in exasperation.

“Curly, we’re gonna need you to pull it together,” Varric said. “You’re kinda drawing a lot of unwanted attention.”

Cullen turned, ready to lash out at Varric, too, until he finally noticed the spirits surrounding them.

“Shit…” Evelyn murmured, swatting at them with her staff.

Cullen drew his sword and stood, almost trembling, unsure how to defend himself against the cloudy apparitions all around him. “Just...tell me what to do!”

“Nothing here is actually real. At least not if you don’t let it be…”

“What?!”

“Think of it like a dream!”

“I have had some pretty horrible dreams, _Evelyn_!”

“Trust me!” Evelyn reached her hand out to him, pushing aside a particularly angry-looking spirit who glared at her before floating away. Cullen grasped her hand with his, cold and clammy, but his grip was firm, and she pulled him away from the rest of the wisps, who seemed suddenly a lot less interested.

“You must face him again to free your friends,” Cole whispered apologetically in Evelyn’s ear.

“The Nightmare?” Evelyn sighed.

Cole nodded. “Follow your sense of dread, but do not be afraid. He has grown weak with so little to feed on. And you have grown stronger. With friends.”

“You’re not coming?”

Cole looked back at Merrill, and then at her Eluvian. “I must help here. To keep her safe, and to keep the way open for when you return.”

Anders had been listening. “ _I_ will stay with Merrill,” he said defensively. “I prefer not to abandon my patients.”

Cole frowned. “You will be needed.”

“Real or not, I’m sure I speak for almost everyone here when I say that I’d be a lot less concerned about our odds if we had a healer with us,” Bull agreed.

“Merrill already looks a lot better, Anders,” Hawke said. “I’m sure Cole can look after her.”

“Fine.” Anders scowled at her. “But if anything happens to her…” He tried to glare threateningly at Cole, who had already surrounded her like a protective bubble. It was hard to imagine anyone better suited to watching over her. Other than Anders himself, of course.

“We should get moving!” Evelyn shouted. “Follow the wisps of Fear and try not to feed them!”

“Feed them?” Fenris asked.

“They feed on your fears.”

“Of course they do…” he muttered.

...

“Do you suppose Stroud is still here?” Hawke turned and whispered to Varric, trying to ignore the procession of giant spiders that were marching alongside them. She knew that for the others, the Fearlings probably appeared as something else entirely, and she was obviously curious what they saw, but didn’t want to risk asking out of fear that she might begin to see something far more terrifying than giant spiders.

“I don’t see how he could still be alive. It’s been what? A year? But then again, this _is_ the Fade…nothing ever makes any sense.”

“Anyone else’s getting bigger?” Bull asked.

“I think it means we’re getting closer...” Evelyn felt like all of this was vaguely familiar, like one prolonged moment of deja vu, but when she tried to remember particular details of their prior venture into the Fade at Adamant, everything seemed to change and slip away from her memories.

“Oh, goodie!” Bull chuckled nervously.

“Ok, now I definitely don’t remember _that_ being here last time!” Varric pointed ahead at a giant glowing white-blue orb. It was as if someone had cast a powerful barrier spell, but it was larger than Evelyn knew to be possible for any one person to cast or maintain. 

The magic felt familiar to Hawke, and she turned to see what Fenris made of it, but he was staring at Anders instead.

Anders, who was suddenly sprinting forward, making full use of his long legs and moving faster than anyone had ever seen him move. The others followed, and soon, they could make out the sounds of several people shouting from within the giant dome of light.

“YOU CANNOT DEFEAT THIS DEMON THROUGH NORMAL MEANS!” boomed a deep baritone.

“Then, pray tell, dear Spirit... _what_ do you suggest?”

“YOU MUST BANISH YOUR FEARS.”

“I mean, we’re trying, but…” a third voice, slightly higher, less flippant than the second.

“ONCE YOU HAVE FACED YOUR FEARS AND OVERCOME THEM THERE WILL BE NOTHING LEFT TO FEED THE NIGHTMARE.”

A fourth voice chimed in, “I’ve been at it for awhile now...or maybe no time at all...I don’t rightly know, to be honest.”

“It’s been over a year, by normal reckoning, I should say,” the second voice offered.

“Has it? It’s only really felt like a few minutes since you left…”

“Maker preserve us!”

Evelyn could see three people and what appeared to be a spirit judging by his glowing ephemeral shape inside the barrier, though his presence was much more soldier-like than Cole’s fluid, almost-feline appearance, but the brightness of the magic that was sustaining it made it difficult to make out any more details. The _voices_ on the other hand, were easier to identify.

“So what? Do we just tell it we’re not afraid?”

“Yes, Alarion. Why don’t you go march right up to the thing and tell it so.” 

 _Dorian_. And Alarion, it seemed, as well. But the last, though still familiar, was harder to place.

“Perhaps, we’ll need to remove the barrier first. To show that we are, in fact, not afraid?”

“I _told_ you he’d still be here!” Hawke exclaimed triumphantly, smacking Varric on the arm. “Mustache and all!”

“And _I_ told _you_ it was entirely possible because this shit is fucking weird!”

Evelyn was running almost as fast as Anders now, but as they got closer, they realized that the barrier stood between the three men, the spirit, and a giant Fear demon with more and more Fearlings streaming in and surrounding them, the embodiment of whatever it was they had all been trying not to notice as they made their way here.

“Ignore whatever the demon tries to tell you to prey on your insecurities. We stick together. No matter what!” Evelyn shouted. “And remember...no more fear!” 

_You might have married one to prove something to yourself and to the world, but you still remember what it felt like the day they came to take you away..._

She took a deep breath and raised her staff up high. “I’m _not_ afraid of Templars!”

Several of the Fearlings had broken away, and were making their way toward her, appearing to her as a squad of Templars out to round up young apostates. Evelyn sent a flurry of ice their way and they vanished.

Cullen looked at her, confused. “Templars?”

Evelyn grimaced. “That’s what I see…”

“Oh, like Samson’s Red Templars…?” For Cullen, the demon and its underlings had taken the form of a giant red lyrium monster.

Evelyn shook her head. “Face _your_ fears, Cullen. Don’t worry about mine.”

He looked more closely, something he’d been avoiding, though it wasn’t until now that he realized why. Beneath the red glowing crystals that had taken over and mutilated most of the lyrium monster’s body, he recognized his own face.

_Yes! Look and see what you truly are, Commander!_

“I... _no_! That’s not me!”

“Exactly!” Evelyn hadn’t let go of his hand the entire time since they’d entered the Fade, and she squeezed it again, hard, as he swung his sword at his own corrupted reflection.

“I am no longer afraid of becoming what Danarius made me to be!” Fenris shouted, raising his sword to several more Fearlings, which had coalesced into _his_ mirror image, lyrium marks ablaze, holding Hawke’s still-beating heart in a gauntleted fist.

“And I am _not_ afraid of giant spiders!” Hawke screamed victoriously at a many-eyed eight-legged monstrosity, leaping up to sink her daggers into its hulking body.

“I’m nothing like them!” Varric shouted, firing his crossbow through a tankard of ale in his mother’s hand. It landed with a THUNK in his father’s coffin. “Or Bartrand, either, for _that_ matter!” He fired another bolt toward the Fear demon for good measure.

Bull was looking at them all like they were a bunch of idiots. “You all see all that, huh?” he chuckled.

“Your turn, Bull…” Evelyn nodded.

“All I see is us being stuck here forever…just wandering around like lunatics.” He shrugged.

_Accept that this will be your fate. Madness. The Tal-Vashoth who lost his way to the Inquisition, and his mind in the Fade._

“Well, that is simply not acceptable!” Dorian and the others inside the barrier had finally noticed them as they had begun to draw the demon’s attention away.

Bull laughed. “Well, then, by all means...if the ‘Vint finds it unacceptable, I suppose we’ll have to find a way out of here!”

The Nightmare and its host of Fearlings had begun to diminish significantly in size, but it was still strong enough to surround Dorian and the inner group.

“Who’s left?” Evelyn looked around. “Anders…?”

Anders had made his way to the opposite side of the barrier, blasting a path through Fearlings with fireballs as quick as they could come. “Justice! Let me in!”

“WHAT DO YOU SEE WHEN YOU LOOK AT THE NIGHTMARE?”

“Let me in, old man! It’s me! I can help!”

“YOU HAVE YET TO FACE YOUR FEARS, MY FRIEND. I HAD HOPED COMPASSION MIGHT BE ABLE TO HELP YOU…”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! But if we join together...the two of us can take this demon. I know it!”

_He has no desire to rejoin with you. You were a terrible host. You ruined him. Corrupted him. Turned Justice into Vengeance. And it was all for nothing._

Hawke, Fenris, and Varric had made their way toward Anders on either side, kicking, stabbing, and slicing their way through Fearlings and, in Hawke’s case, various limbs of the Fear demon.

“Anders...what do you see?!” Hawke shouted, before throwing another giant spider off of her back and sinking both daggers into its abdomen with a satisfied grin.

Varric managed to send several more tankards of Dwarven ale flying with a single shot from Bianca. “C’mon, Blondie. The harder you refuse to look, the more this thing grows.”

_You have always been a coward. You have always taken the easy way out. You have always relied on the kindness of others. And you have always squandered it. You have nothing and nobody left to save you from your own folly._

“It’s what I deserve...” He slumped over, bracing himself against his staff, looking suddenly exhausted and devastated.

“I’M SORRY, ANDERS. I BELONG HERE. BUT IF I’D HAVE KNOWN HOW LONELY YOU WOULD BE…”

“It’s not your fault. I know it’s not your fault,” he sobbed.

“Kill it, then, for Justice,” Hawke whispered dramatically, grabbing him by the elbow, and pulling him back up. “I mean...metaphorically. But also, physically. Or rather, Fade-ally. Fatally?”

Varric gave her a disapproving head shake. 

“Just...whatever! You’re not alone anymore, okay?! You have _us_ ! And you _did_ change the world, you ridiculous, stubborn ass!”

Fenris nodded at him, and swung his sword to clear away a large four-legged version of himself right before it could reach into Anders and pull out one of his vital organs with its glowing teeth.

Anders closed his eyes and straightened back up. He slammed his staff into the ground, sending burning rings of fire radiating out from him, taking care of the remaining Fearlings on their side of the barrier.

“Spirit, lower the barrier!” Evelyn shouted. “Time to confront your Fears, gentlemen!”

Alarion raised his bow and shot a flurry of arrows at the Fearlings that began to rush toward them, threatening to tell all of his secrets. 

“He already _knows_ I’m a liar!” he shouted, as one of them broke through the line of arrows and began to transform into a wolf, sinking its teeth into Alarion’s arm before he could reach behind him and grab another arrow to shove through one of its seven hideous eyes. “Fuck!” he hissed, grabbing his arm, as the Fearling vanished in a puff of smoke.

“ _Temptation_ , really?” Dorian scoffed, sending a string of lightning toward the tendrils of Fear that were reaching out to him.

 _It’s certainly what got you into this situation!_ The Nightmare was beginning to sound a bit desperate as Dorian sent another flash of lightning at it.

Bull was there, too, swinging his enormous axe at the swarm of Fearlings that came through the barrier behind him. “I got you, Kadan!” he roared, clearing away another wave of them.

Stroud knocked a cluster of Fearlings away with his shield and then swung his sword into another. “Darkspawn are the least of my worries, after what I’ve been through!”

Justice went stomping straight for the demon, which by now had shrunken to the size of a normal person. “YOU HAVE FED ON THESE MORTALS’ FEARS LONG ENOUGH!”

He grasped it by the throat, and in a flash of white-blue light, the Nightmare seemed to shatter into a million different pieces, along with the remaining Fearlings.

Before the dust had even settled, Dorian fully launched himself toward Evelyn, throwing his arms around her and almost knocking her off her feet.

“I’ve never been so relieved to see you,” he muttered against her cheek, squeezing her tightly. “I’m so sorry for getting you mixed up in all of this, my dear. I _wanted_ to surprise you, so...surprise! I guess...”

“It certainly worked,” Evelyn laughed, holding the hug a little longer. After the past few weeks of frustrated, desperate searching, it was hard not to just collapse against him in tears of relief. But they were still in the Fade, and, as much as she hated to admit it, Cullen was right. She really didn’t know exactly how they’d gotten here, nor did she really know how to get back.

Once they’d finally let go of each other, Dorian turned and shot Alarion a look. He was trying to look busy, wrapping a bandage around the bite marks in his arm, and fishing around in his pack for an elfroot potion while the others swarmed around Dorian, asking if he was alright and congratulating each other on the outcome of the battle with the Nightmare.

“I seem to recall you having a bit more facial hair the last time I saw you,” Bull said, smiling warmly at Dorian.

“Yes, I believe that’s Alarion’s _worst_ crime -- convincing me to shave my mustache off,” he said, beaming back at him, more than a little sheepishly.

“Well, you still look good. But you already know that.”

“It still means a lot to hear somebody else say it,” Dorian said, trying to hide his blushing behind a cheeky grin.

“Good to see you’re still with us, Sparkler!” Varric said cheerfully, giving Dorian an enthusiastic pat on the back. “I never doubted for a second that we’d find you!”

“He had the odds at 80% we wouldn’t find you alive!” Hawke laughed. “95% you’d be maimed or missing a body part…”

“And I _won_ that bet, didn’t I?!” He reached a hand out toward Hawke. “Pay up…”

She begrudgingly handed him a couple of gold sovereigns. 

“Is that _him_?” Cullen asked, unsure what to make of Alarion at this point. He didn’t look interested in fleeing or doing much of anything at the moment. He just looked...tired. And uncomfortable. Surely, if he’d been an immediate threat, Dorian would’ve said something or done something to neutralize him by now.

Dorian waved his hand. “ _Him_ who?”

Anders and Justice were also sharing a moment, which Stroud found himself uncomfortably in the midst of. He had known both of them briefly, when they were still two separate entities and Wardens at Vigil’s Keep in Amaranthine. They’d disappeared, under suspicious circumstances, shortly after he’d arrived to fill in as Warden-Commander when the Hero of Ferelden had been called away.

“Thank you, Gentlemen...for your help,” he grumbled. “It’s good to see you _both_ again. It’s good to see _anyone_ again.”

Anders peered at him, as if he was just noticing him for the first time. “I remember you!” He frowned. “You were the reason I had to give up my cat.”

“Yes, well...I was perhaps a bit too eager to prove myself worthy of my Command post back then.”

“You were a dick.”

“That, too.”

“STROUD LIBERATED THAT NOBLE CREATURE FROM SLAVERY, ANDERS! AND HIS JOURNEY HERE HAS NOT BEEN EASY.”

“Justice! For the last time...being someone’s pet is not the same as being their slave…”

“BUT DANARIUS REFERRED TO FENRIS AS HIS PET.”

“That’s different!”

“I WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND HOW YOU HUMANS APPLY THE RULES OF JUSTICE DIFFERENTLY TO DIFFERENT CREATURES.”

“We don’t! Well, _I_ don’t! It’s just...oh nevermind…” Anders muttered. 

“If it means anything to you, I’m sorry.” Stroud offered his hand for Anders to shake, but Anders just looked at it and turned back to Justice.

“When we get out of here, I want to show you the better world we created together! Even _Fenris_ thinks we were right! You should see how freely mages are able to practice their magic now. And the new Divine has officially disbanded the Templar Order and the Circles altogether!”

“I WILL NOT BE RETURNING WITH YOU.”

“What?”

“THIS IS MY HOME. I AM A SPIRIT. AN IDEA. BEING TRAPPED OUTSIDE OF THE FADE IN A MORTAL BODY LIMITS MY ABILITY TO INSPIRE _OTHERS_ TO STAND UP FOR WHAT’S RIGHT.”

“But there’s so much MORE we could do together...things aren’t _perfect_ , by any means! There are still plenty of people who would rather things return to the way they were for us mages. And Fenris has been fighting the injustice of the Tevinter slave trade with Merrill and Isabela now. I thought we might even be able to help them!”

“ _YOU_ STILL CAN.”

“But without _you_ , I’m just an old, tired, sad, doomed man…I am nothing.”

“YOU DO _YOURSELF_ AND OTHERS AN INJUSTICE BY BELIEVING THESE LIES. YOU ARE A HEALER. A WARDEN. A HERO. A FRIEND. AND IN SPITE OF ALL THAT YOU HAVE ENDURED, YOU ARE KIND. COMPASSION WAS DRAWN TO YOU. LET HIM HELP YOU IN WAYS I NEVER COULD.”

“But Justice! I don’t know how to...to _exist_ by myself!”

“I HAVE MET FAITH HERE IN THE FADE. YOU KNEW HER ONCE, TOO. BUT WHEN WE MERGED, THERE WAS NO ROOM LEFT FOR FAITH, MERCY, EVEN WISDOM, AMONG OTHERS. I WILL ALWAYS BE A PART OF YOU. BUT YOU MUST TRY TO ALLOW THEM BACK INTO YOUR HEART, AS WELL. IT IS WHAT MAKES YOU HUMAN. SOLID. WHOLE.”

Stroud cleared his throat, and Anders turned to glare at him, tears streaming down his face. 

“Leave us!”

“I don’t really recommend staying here any longer than you have to, and it appears the Inquisitor and your other friends are preparing to leave.”

“My oldest and best friend is _here_!”

“GO WITH THEM, ANDERS. YOU DO NOT BELONG HERE ANYMORE THAN I BELONG IN YOUR WORLD.”

“I’ve never felt like I belonged there, either!” Anders sobbed.

“DO NOT MAKE ME _FORCE_ YOU TO LEAVE...” Justice bellowed, even louder than usual, and his form grew larger, and more threatening as he loomed over him.

Anders looked up at him, desperate and hurting, unable to pull himself away.

“I’d personally rather not have to fight _another_ unfriendly spirit,” Stroud murmured, grasping Anders’ arms and dragging him towards the others.

Anders made a feeble attempt to fight him off, but Stroud had little trouble steering the dejected man the rest of the way, while Justice nodded back at them and dissipated, as they all waved goodbye to the spirit who’d inhabited their friend for most of the time they’d known him.

“Merrill will be sad that she didn’t get to see him,” Hawke lamented.

“Well, now that we know where he is, I’m sure she’ll find a way to visit...” Fenris shook his head.

“Yeah, but dreams just aren’t the same as being _physically_ here.”

“And thank the Maker for that!” Cullen huffed. 

“I’m sorry, but _who_ is the devastated pile of bones that the Warden is dragging toward us?” Dorian asked. “I could’ve sworn I just saw him looking fiercely handsome and powerful slinging fireballs at an army of desire demons a few minutes ago…is he alright?”

“Oh, that’s just Anders,” Hawke shrugged. “I imagine he’ll want to go wallow in self-pity as soon as we’re out of here.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow at her.

“ _What_?! We’re not going to let him, obviously!”

“Anders? _The_ Anders?! The infamous apostate who blew up the Kirkwall Chantry and started the Mage-Templar War?”

“Oh that’s old news,” Hawke laughed. “We don’t really talk about it anymore,” she whispered loudly.

Fenris audibly sighed, and went to help Stroud wrangle the mage.

“How do we get out of here, then, Boss?”

“Back to the Eluvian, I’m hoping...” Evelyn grimaced.

Alarion shook his head, finally speaking up. “We’ve already tried. It won’t let us back through.”

“Well, maybe if you hadn’t dragged us into a fucking enchanted mirror you knew virtually nothing about, like every other situation you’ve put us in, we wouldn’t have gotten stuck here!”

“And if you had just listened to me to begin with, and not insisted on taking ‘the scenic route,’ maybe we’d _all_ be safe at Skyhold!”

“Yes, and you could keep up your little charade of being my...my... _whatever_ you were pretending to be, when you were really just interested in spying!”

“Yes, Dorian. That’s right. All the time I’ve spent with you for the past few months has been entirely motivated by that alone. You’re just THAT intriguing! My contacts, of course, were most interested in obtaining information about your elaborate and unnecessary grooming routines!”

“Well, someone clearly thought I was interesting enough to send you! And what kind of idiot works for someone they know _nothing_ about?”

“I don’t know. Maybe the same kind of idiot who hires a ‘Dalish’ bodyguard with an unconvincing backstory to be his _boyfriend_?”

“Are you two quite done here?” Evelyn said, interrupting the tense moment between the two men. “Because we have our own Eluvian. And it works. Sort of. At least, I think it does.”

…

Without much effort at all, the Fade seemed to shift around them, bringing them back to the Eluvian, where they found Merrill still asleep at the foot of the mirror, and Cole still wrapped protectively around her.

“This part of the Fade feels different now. Better. We are free. And so is he.”

“Yeah. That was fun and all, but can you help us get back?” Evelyn asked the spirit.

Cole shook his head. “ _You_ possess the Anchor…you released its power. Now it’s time to pull it back.” 

“So I just…?”

Cole nodded. “Like before.”

Cullen braced himself this time, grabbing Evelyn’s other hand again. She turned and smiled at him, before raising the Anchor hand up, just as she had so many other times whenever she closed a Rift, and she _pulled_.

The Fade itself, the glowing, crackling green of its edges and the Veil, appeared to suddenly be siphoned away through Evelyn’s hand and sucked through the mirror. Or maybe it was _them_ who had been sucked through the Eluvian. Whatever the case, they were now all standing, relatively unscathed in Merrill’s apartment. Or rather, what remained of it.

The ceiling had collapsed all around them, taking most of the walls down with it. Merrill’s collections, her kitchen, and the majority of her belongings laid in pulverized piles on the floor. Evelyn looked in dismay all around her, and then down at Merrill as she began to stir. 

“Merrill, how are you feeling?” she said softly, kneeling down gently beside her.

“Did it work?”

“Yes. Well...in a manner of speaking. We were in the Fade. We found Dorian. And now we’re back. But your apartment --”

“Where is he?” Merrill mumbled, rubbing her eyes as she woke up, seemingly unaware of the state of her home.

“Where is who?”

“Your friend? The one we’ve been looking for?”

Dorian walked over and knelt down next to Evelyn.

“I’m Dorian. Thank you for helping to find me. You and your Eluvian saved my life, and the lives of some of my closest friends, it seems,” he said, giving her a warm smile. “I’m sorry about your home…”

Merrill sat up and frowned at him. "I thought he was meant to have a mustache?" she asked, sounding disappointed.

“Speaking of mustaches, what happened to Stroud?” Hawke looked around the rubble.

“In death, sacrifice. He stood watch over the Nightmare, just as he promised, with Justice at his side.”

“Damn…” Varric whispered.

“Wait!” Hawke’s eyes went wide. “He was...a _ghost_?” 

“He _did_ seem to think we’d only just left him there,” Dorian said. “I chalked it up to Fade time, but...”

“So who won _that_ bet, then?”

“Nobody, Hawke...”

Fenris cleared his throat. “Merrill, your apartment has been completely destroyed.”

“Oh, I know! These things just happen sometimes, you know…?”

Varric shrugged, and Bull smiled wide.

“Glad you’re back with us, hunting buddy!” he roared, offering her a hand as she stood up.

“Me too!” She took his hand, smiling. He looked happier than she’d ever seen him in the short time they’d known each other. “What did I miss? Why is everyone covered in blood? Oh no!” She gasped. “Is it _my_ blood?”

“Only some of it, Daisy...”

“You did lose a lot, but Cole helped.” Anders looked with gratitude at the spirit. 

“It was _your_ magic. I just kept it going while you were gone.”

“Thank you, Cole,” Merrill murmured, reaching for his hand as well, and it materialized, just for her to grasp and pat. If spirits could blush, Cole would have right then. 

“Yes, thank you,” Anders repeated, only a little bit begrudgingly. “For...everything.”

Merrill looked up with concern at Anders. “Did you find Justice?”

Anders nodded sadly, fighting to hold back more tears. “Justice will be staying in the Fade...” He looked down at the ground and muttered, “...where he belongs.”

“Oh no! I’m sorry, Anders!”

“It’s...fine. It _will_ be fine. _I’ll_ be fine.”

“Who is that?” Merrill asked, pointing at Alarion. “And why is he still bleeding?”

Everyone suddenly turned to look at Alarion, who’d been doing his best not to draw any attention to himself or the wound on his arm.

“It’s nothing! Just a little scratch…”

“Let me look at it.” Anders’ entire demeanor had changed suddenly from sad and dejected to determined and authoritative.

“Honestly, it’ll be fine. I’ve got more bandages and elfroot in my pack.”

Anders grabbed his wrist and began removing the blood-soaked bandage he’d wrapped hastily around it. “Did this happen in the Fade?”

Alarion nodded. There was no use in protesting the healer’s care, it seemed.

“What was _your_ greatest fear?” Bull asked, peering in awe at the deep bite marks.

“I saw...a dog. I’ve always been afraid of them. Ever since one chased me as a kid,” Alarion lied. Dorian looked suspiciously at him.

“Well, it’s a good thing Merrill noticed you were hurt. It’s hardly ‘just a scratch’ at all,” Anders declared.

“Andraste’s mabari!” Varric cursed, covering his eyes. “Was it a _rabid_ dog?” 

“Elfroot isn’t going to be enough. I’m going to need a bit of lyrium…” Anders turned and looked expectantly at Evelyn. He knew Merrill never used the stuff, relying on her own blood to boost her power, and he assumed Dorian, being from Tevinter, probably used blood magic, too.

“This man is under arrest...” Cullen began.

“And what? That means he doesn’t deserve medical treatment?” Anders barked at him. “Lyrium? Anyone?” He held out his hand, waiting.

Cullen stepped back, cowed a bit by Anders’ ferociously protective glare, and Evelyn handed him a potion. He gulped it down and then got to work cleaning and mending the damaged flesh, while Merrill tried to distract Alarion with small talk.

“What clan are you from, lethallin? Your vallaslin is...unusual.”

“That’s because he’s not really Dalish.” Dorian glared at him.

“Oh! I’m sorry. So your tattoos are like Fenris’? Did your Master do this to you?” She whispered, trying to be sympathetic, but her curiosity almost always took priority over any other consideration.

Alarion suddenly felt Fenris’ intense attention upon him as well, and he was beginning to regret not trying to sneak away as soon as they’d returned from the Fade.

“No. They’re something I did to disguise myself. For my work in Tevinter as a spy,” he said, as nonchalantly as he could in order to further irritate Dorian. “Tevinter’s nobility can’t be bothered to tell the difference between these meaningless doodles and actual Dalish markings.”

“Ooooooh! You’re a spy, too?!” Merrill exclaimed. “Varric has lots of spies. Hawke is sometimes a spy, though not so much anymore because pretty much everyone knows who she is. We’ve actually all done at least a _bit_ of spying, well...except Aveline. She would _never_ spy.”

Anders snorted uncomfortably at her mention of the Guard-Captain, before focusing back on Alarion’s wound.

“Who were you spying on? And who were you spying _for_?” Merrill asked, as if it wasn’t a sensitive topic at all.

“I was reporting information about Dorian’s movements and political involvements to a network of spies…” He eyed the mage bitterly as Dorian continued to pretend not to be bothered by Alarion’s brutal honesty.

“The Agents of Fen’Harel?!” Evelyn asked, a little too excitedly. It made Merrill jump.

Alarion’s surprised silence was enough. He hadn’t intended on confessing this much. But he couldn’t deny it. And what would be the point?

“Yeah," he shrugged. "But they found my work... _disappointing_ , and we cut ties a couple weeks ago."

“ _Our_ agents have picked up on rumors, whisperings. I look forward to hearing more, assuming you will cooperate.” Finally...someone who might have some answers. It was obviously Dorian’s call on how they chose to interrogate him, but she was eager for information, and it seemed Alarion actually had some. Evelyn was practically beaming at him and it was more than a little disconcerting. 

“We’ll be taking him to Skyhold to stand trial for his actions,” Cullen said, firmly.

“I never meant for any of this to happen,” Alarion muttered, clenching his teeth together as Anders’ buzzing magic penetrated deeper into the torn sinews of his arm.

“Maybe not. But you put my friend and his family in danger, and you must answer for that,” Cullen explained, sternly.

“I did everything I could to keep him and his mother safe!”

“Well, Dorian is also part of _our_ family, and you endangered _us_ ,” Cullen snapped back.

Dorian looked at Cullen surprised. He knew that Cullen liked him, maybe even respected him, but he thought it was more out of kindness to his wife than anything.

“My husband almost _died_ trying to find Dorian, and that’s on _you_ , Alarion...” Evelyn added. 

“He _what_?” Dorian asked, shocked.

“Enough!” Anders boomed, his work apparently complete. Everyone looked to him, many of them surprised he could even produce such a commanding tone. “We’ve all been through a lot,” he sighed. “Can we all just...have some time...to process?”

Alarion truly noticed Anders for the first time, admiring his long strawberry-blonde hair, which had been tied back carelessly into a messy bun, revealing lighter strands of more faded grayish blonde around his face. He didn’t look nearly as malicious _or_ heroic as the various rumours made him out to be. He mostly just looked tired and thin, but still quite handsome, underneath his overgrown beard.

Anders made eye contact with him and gave him a questioning look, causing Alarion to look away, blushing, realizing he’d probably been staring for a bit too long. 

“You know what helps _me_ ‘process’...?” Varric eyed Hawke with a wicked grin.

“DRINKS ON VARRIC AT THE HANGED MAN!” Hawke announced.

…

Alarion had been mostly keeping to himself while the others ate and drank and laughed and caught up with one another at the tavern where, just a few days prior, Dorian and he had feared for their lives. Athenril was barely a noticeable presence now, ducking in and talking quietly with a few of the patrons before ducking back out without even a nod of acknowledgment while Hawke, Varric, Dorian, and Bull were all vying for the position of loudest, most obnoxious patron of the evening. He knew they all would probably be suspicious of his ‘spying’ now, but he couldn’t help that it was in his nature to be observant, and it’s not like he had anyone to report to or anything left to hide from any of them. He’d taken turns watching all of them, matching names with faces and the things Dorian had told him, and trying to understand their interactions, the tensions between them, their histories and relationships. He was truly in awe that such a strange and diverse group of people had coalesced around Dorian. 

He’d noticed from across the room that Anders was also quiet and removed from the rest of the group, though he seemed to be lost in his _own_ thoughts, not at all interested in most of what was happening in the tavern around him. Merrill had sat beside him for awhile, leaning fondly against him and murmuring what Alarion could only assume were strange, but conciliatory things, and Fenris had joined them a few times as well, sitting down and sliding a mug of ale across the table before returning to Hawke and the others to try and regulate their antics. At one point, Varric even sidled up to him and appeared to be offering him a spot at the card table. But Anders politely refused.

He had been sitting alone for awhile, and Alarion had gotten bored with the rest of them as they got more drunk and less interesting, so he decided to join the sulking mage.

Anders looked over at him as he took a seat. “How’s your arm?”

“Good. If I didn’t know better, I’d say the injury had just been part of a _bad dream_ ,” Alarion chuckled softly.

“Well, technically, it was. The Nightmare. In the Fade. You just happened to _physically_ be there. So your wound came back with you.”

“Yes…” Alarion suddenly felt terribly awkward, and he wondered if this was a mistake.

“I’m sorry. You understood all of that already, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“I, umm...I’m still adjusting to being around so many people,” Anders sighed. “I probably shouldn’t have even come here tonight. Half of these people want to see me hanged. But I don’t have anywhere else to go. I used to have a house. Well, a clinic. But it’s been taken over by a colony of feral cats and they were not very welcoming, either.”

“So you and the elf…?”

“Fenris? Nah. We pretty much _hate_ each other,” Anders declared, quite a bit more loudly than Alarion had expected.

Fenris, who was distracted for only a moment from his game of Diamondback when he heard his name being called from across the bar, smiled to himself and shook his head.

“No, the other one…”

“Who…?” Anders couldn’t think of anyone else.

“The little Dalish woman?” Alarion nodded toward the middle of the room where Merrill was dancing some kind of jig on a table with Hawke while Bull clapped and roared with laughter.

“Oh! Merrill?!” Anders laughed. “We’re just friends! She’s...and I’m...yeah, no. Don’t get me wrong. I care a lot about her. And I’m pretty sure she’s the only one here who gives a damn about me, but --”

“Not the only one.”

“Excuse me?”

Alarion cleared his throat. “Er, I mean. Your other friends seem to care quite a bit about you, too. I've seen them checking in on you all night.”

“I suppose. I really wish they wouldn’t...” But he couldn't deny that even Varric had seemed to warm back up to him, just as Fenris had said he would.

“Is there anyone else... _special_?”

“No. I have been undeniably single for the past...well, more than a decade. And it’s probably for the best. My _situation_ hasn’t really been very conducive to romance.” He was taken aback by the strange look on Alarion’s face. “I’m sorry...that _is_ what you were asking, wasn’t it?”

“It was," Alarion nodded. "But now I have a few follow-up questions…” He grinned.


	12. The Farewell Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang helps Merrill sift through the rubble and salvage what they can. Evelyn and Cullen go shopping. And Hawke hosts a fancy send-off for the members of the Inquisition headed back to Skyhold.

The next day, as Cullen and Scout Harding began to make arrangements to head back to Skyhold with their detainee, Evelyn distracted herself from their inevitable goodbyes to the Kirkwall degenerates by insisting they look for a present for Sera and Dagna’s pending nuptials, which she realized, quite guiltily, she’d nearly forgotten about in the rush of their search and rescue activities over the past few weeks.

Anders had insisted that Alarion didn’t need to be shackled while Cullen and Evelyn went out to peruse the wares of Kirkwall’s legendary merchant districts, arguing that his arm was still healing and he was still under _his_ medical supervision until he had decided he was fit to travel. No one had really wanted to argue with Anders, the _Healer_ , so Dorian and Bull agreed to stay close by and keep an eye on them both. Alarion’s current punishment, then, along with the others, was to help Merrill sift through the rubble of her apartment in order to salvage whatever she could of her belongings. 

She seemed most concerned about her pressed flowers, though her friends kept insisting there must be more important personal items she wished to keep. By mid-morning, most of them had given up on asking her about individual things, and had just pulled everything they could and loaded it into carts headed for the basement of Hawke’s Hightown estate for storage until the apartment could be repaired or Merrill could find a new place to stay more permanently. All that was left was the Eluvian, which appeared to have become inactive again upon their return from the Fade, and a pile of cuttings Merrill had pillaged from the city’s private gardens waiting to be arranged and pressed and framed for her collection. Most of her completed arrangements had been shattered and ruined in the implosion, but she seemed determined to begin again. Having nothing else to do but wait around under close supervision, Alarion sat down next to her, offering his assistance.

Merrill was huffing every few minutes as Alarion crushed the flowers incorrectly between panes of glass, causing the petals to fold on themselves. Soon, Anders joined them, in an effort to teach Alarion how to do it properly, which still wasn’t correct according to Merrill. 

Dorian stood, watching the three of them bicker over pressing flowers, and the strange closeness forming between Anders and Alarion.

“Weird energy with those two,” Bull said, passing Dorian his canteen, which he'd filled with whiskey before they'd left the Hanged Man earlier that morning. He had an unusually tentative look on his face as he waited to see how Dorian might react.

“I think Alarion must just have a thing for powerful and controversial mages,” Dorian chuckled.

“He’s not the only one…” Bull grabbed his canteen back and took a long swig to try and hide the fact that he was actually quite _nervous_.

"Oh? I didn't realize you had developed a crush on 'The Healer' as well?"

"Nah, too skinny for me..."

Dorian smiled, leaning his head against Bull’s arm.

Bull swallowed hard. “I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye.”

“Are you getting emotional on me?”

“No!” Bull laughed. “But I do regret not fixing things between us. I was...a little inflexible.”

“Maybe next time we can compromise. Tevinter doesn’t always need me, and Maker knows, the Chargers could use some time off from _you_.”

“ _Next_ time?”

“That is, if you want…”

“If _you_ want,” Bull retorted with a ridiculous grin spreading across his face.

Dorian turned to face him, bending down on one knee in an exaggerated fashion and taking his hand. “Iron Bull, will you be my boyfriend?”

Bull shook his head at Dorian’s theatrics. “You're the worst," he muttered, feeling his cheeks beginning to darken. "But yeah, of course,” he hastily replied, and pulled Dorian up into a kiss.

“Alarion!” Merrill yelled. “It’s not that hard! Stop ruining my flowers!”

Bull and Dorian pulled themselves apart to see Merrill standing up, absolutely fuming over whatever disaster Alarion had created this time.

“I positively adore her,” Dorian said, admiringly.

“She’s a unique little elf, that’s for sure. But she's probably the only thing that kept me sane while we were looking for you. Just the right mix of willful naivete and 'seen-some-shit' to keep up morale when all I could think about was the possibility that we'd lost you and I was such a stubborn ass that I hadn't even said goodbye."

“Oh?”

“I was _worried_ ,” Bull groaned.

“How worried were you?”

Bull rolled his eyes. “ _Terribly_ , Kadan...”

"Would you have been devastated?"

"Utterly."

“Awwwwww!”

“Knock it off, before I change my mind!” Bull chuckled, wrapping his arm around Dorian’s waist and pulling him in close to his side.

...

Evelyn and Cullen stood together browsing a merchant’s stall full of housewares in Hightown, searching for a gift for Sera and Dagna.

“I really wish we were in Val Royeaux. I want to get them something completely over-the-top!” Evelyn lamented, holding up a vase that had a similar pattern to the ridiculous plaid pants Sera always wore. “But there’s just no time to go back around on our way home. And with Alarion in our custody…”

“Can’t we just get them a few jars of bees?” Cullen scoffed. 

“Bull already has that covered.”

They strolled to the next stall, which was filled with all kinds of toys and games aimed at Kirkwall’s latest boom of young children, conceived and born in the last few years since the Rebellion as Kirkwall rebuilt itself in more ways than one.

“LOOK!” Evelyn said gleefully. She picked up a wooden box with the words _‘open in case of prank emergency’_ in bold letters. “It's fantastic!”

“I don’t think Sera needs more pranking equipment. I seem to recall numerous occasions where you two were perfectly capable of your mischief without the help of a silly _kit_.”

“Yes, but Dagna might use it, too!”

“Dagna, the woman who is more resourceful than the both of us combined, does not need a prank kit, either.”

“It’s so cute, though! They could display it. It's very _unorthodox_!”

“If we’re going to get them something unorthodox, maybe we should get them something for...um...the bedroom?” Cullen blushed and began rubbing the back of his neck.

“Like...you mean... _bed sheets_? That’s not very unorthodox, Cullen,” Evelyn said, rolling her eyes. “Pretty traditional, actually.”

“I meant...for their...entertainment...” he stammered.

“Oh, they do have these wonderful enchanted candles where the flames glow in different colours!”

“No! I _mean_ something more... _adult_!” 

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, _darling_. You’ll need to be more specific,” she said, even though she knew _exactly_ what he was talking about.

“You know, like toys...but for the _bedroom_ ,” he whispered, turning a deep shade of crimson.

“You’re telling me that a prank kit is a terrible, childish idea, but you want to buy them some stuffed animals or something?” Evelyn’s mouth cracked into a smile. “I mean, I get that they’re young, but not _that_ young!”

“Well now you’re just being purposefully obtuse!”

“No dear, I’m just not sure what you’re suggesting. If you’re going to mock my gift idea, at least suggest something better than some children’s toys to doll up their room!”

“Not _children’s_ toys...”

“You’re just going to have to be more descriptive. I may be a mage, but I’m not a mind reader.”

“Really, Evelyn? You’re going to make me get more graphic?” 

“Yes, _Cullen_. If you can’t use your words at least sign it,” she said, hoping she hadn’t pushed him too far. Cullen pursed his lips then leaned in close.

“ _Sex_ toys,” he murmured in her ear.

“What? I’ve been a bit hard of hearing since the Fade...”

“SEX TOYS, EVELYN!”

For a brief, horrifying moment, Cullen could’ve sworn everyone in the Hightown Bazaar stopped and stared at the former Knight-Captain of Kirkwall and current Commander of the Inquisition. But the moment passed almost as soon as it came and everyone was back to business as usual.

“Ooohhhhh!” Evelyn exclaimed, doing a poor job of pretending she’d only now grasped the concept. “What kind do you recommend?”

“Maker’s breath, I’m sure _I_ don’t know!” Cullen said dramatically, throwing his hands up in the air.

“No, no dear. A present _must_ come from the heart, even a sex toy. So please, suggest something!”

“Maybe something like what we use? I don’t know! What do women use?” 

“You’ve probably been with more women than I have, what _do_ women use?”

“Probably? _More_? You’ve been with women?!”

She smiled and shrugged her shoulders up at him. She was enjoying herself way too much at his expense and he decided he’d had enough. He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the Red Light District, grumbling something about “fine Dwarven craftsmanship” as he stomped determinedly into a little shop across from an establishment that Evelyn could only assume was some kind of brothel with its suggestive pictures of flower petals opening on the banners outside.

“We need two,” he practically shouted at the woman behind the counter, holding up two fingers like he was ordering their lunch.

“Male or female?”

“They’re both women.”

The shopkeeper rolled her eyes.

“I think she means the toys, Cullen...” Evelyn was trying her damndest not to laugh at how seriously he was taking this.

“One of each?”

Evelyn shook her head at him.

“Male, then.”

“Anything else?” the woman asked skeptically.

Cullen took a deep breath. “Yes. One is a dwarf. But she’s been on the Surface for awhile and she studies magic and...makes stuff. And the other is an elf, but she’s rather tall for an elf. And she likes baking cookies, though she often burns them. And she loves pranks. Horrible, insensitive, disruptive pranks.”

The woman looked at him, completely perplexed. “I was thinking more like, color? Size? Enchantments?”

“Oh.”

“Can you give us one largish one that vibrates? Not like, HUUUGE, but on the larger end of normal.” Evelyn held up her hands to demonstrate, both length and girth, while Cullen grimaced a little self-consciously. “And maybe one with two...ummm...smaller arms?”

“Double-sided?”

“No. Like this…” Evelyn spread her fingers apart into a V and thrust them back and forth through the air in front of her.

“Ah. Yes. That’s one of our standard designs.”

“Actually, please, if it’s not too much trouble, both of them should probably be enchanted to vibrate.”

“No trouble at all,” the woman said as she scribbled some notes down on a pad of paper.

“What about temperature?” Cullen asked.

Evelyn looked at him, surprised at his earnestness.

“Like warm or cool settings. And also, lubrication. There’s gotta be an enchantment for _that_.”

“Magic that serves man...and _woman_.” The shopkeeper smiled, nodding approvingly at him. 

“Your enchanters must be very skilled,” Evelyn said, a bit in awe.

“We have one _very_ talented enchanter.” The shopkeeper paused, looking at Cullen. “He was, unfortunately, made Tranquil before the Rebellion, and put to work in the Gallows Armory.” A flash of anger in her eyes suddenly caught him off guard.

“I’m…sorry…” he said, trying to remember the names of every mage he’d seen made Tranquil as a Templar here in Kirkwall. There had been a time when he ran through them obsessively. When he couldn’t sleep. When the withdrawal was at its worst and he found himself reaching for his little box. When all he saw whenever he closed his eyes were horrific visions from his past. But that was a long time ago, he had to tell himself, because it suddenly didn’t feel like it.

“That bitch Meredith had it done because he got caught enchanting a bouquet of roses for me.” The anger had begun to transform into tears.

“I remember,” he nodded solemnly. “Willdan?”

The woman nodded appreciatively. “Thank you for fighting with the mages in the Rebellion,” she sniffed. “If you hadn’t, I don’t want to think about what might have happened to my Will in there. He works here now of his own free will, and we pay him well. I can’t tell if it matters to him, of course, but I hope he knows how valued his work is by so many of our customers...”

“Seeker Cassandra is working on a reversal for the Rite of Tranquility. Her research has been very promising,” Evelyn offered.

Cullen shook his head. Cassandra had been unwilling to try it on anyone yet. Not until she knew, for sure, and understood the effects it might have on people’s minds...and their souls.

“I appreciate the hope your Inquisition has brought us,” the woman said. “But we’ve made a little life here. It’s obviously nothing like what we used to promise each other before he was taken away. But we’re...content.”

They ended up spending the rest of their gold, and most of the day, at the little sex shop, curating an entire collection of “adult toys” for the newlyweds to play with, but Cullen was at least satisfied that he and Evelyn had bought them a wedding gift that would be appreciated. He just hoped they'd wait until their honeymoon, far away from him, to open it.

…

Hawke hosted a farewell dinner for Scout Harding, Bull, Dorian, Evelyn, and Cullen that night at her estate, a much more subdued affair than the previous night at the Hanged Man, though the food and booze were of far better quality. The Guard-Captain that Evelyn had heard so much about, Ser Aveline Vallen, her husband Donnic, and Hawke’s sister Bethany were also there, along with Orana and, to Cullen’s delight, Hawke’s mabari Porcia, who spent most of the night happily begging back and forth between Cullen and Fenris’ laps.

“We should introduce her to Pup!” Cullen had declared.

“Maker spare us…” Dorian grumbled, shooing the dog and her enormous head away from him.

“I think she likes you, Dorian!” Hawke laughed, calling the dog over for a second helping of table scraps, while Orana frowned at the dog’s overindulgence.

The group sat around the table, stomachs full for the first time in a long time, and they happily exchanged stories of their adventures, including a very dramatic retelling of the mustache incident. Hawke and Dorian had become fully absorbed in a conversation about where Xenon would reside if you split apart all his bones and took them to different areas, which ended in Fenris threatening to bury them both in different areas if they continued to plot out the experiment. Anders and Alarion sat together at the end of the table, whispering and even flirting with each other in their weird, evasive way, while Bull, Varric, Harding, and Merrill sat on the other side, making up conversations for Alarion and Anders, cracking themselves up at inappropriate jokes and terrible lip readings. Cullen sat next to Evelyn, near Aveline and Donnic, and even exchanged pleasantries with Bethany and asked how things had been going with the independent College of Magic she'd been working to establish in Kirkwall.

Evelyn looked warmly around the room with a satisfied grin and stood up, raising her cup high out in front of her.

“To Dorian's safety, and to our old and new family members who helped us find him!” she shouted. The table cheered and smashed their drinks together happily.

Hawke snuck over to Evelyn as Cullen left his chair to relieve himself. 

“So does this mean we’re friends?” Hawke said, nudging her. “I threw you a party, after all…”

“Well, of course!” Evelyn looked shocked. “Did you think we weren’t?”

“Well, you’re very stiff and formal sometimes, you know, it’s hard to tell. You actually give Cullen a run for his gold.” 

“Yes, well, having to deal with Orlesians on a regular basis has that effect on you.”

“Oh, I can understand _that_.” Hawke refused to even think about Chateau Haine for more than a half of a second for fear it would spoil her good mood.

“Josephine was a bundle of nerves when I met her. She actually apologized for having an honest conversation about herself with me!”

“Well, um, as a friend, I need to ask you a favour...”

“Oh?”

“Don’t arrest Anders,” Hawke blurted out. “Please?” She grimaced.

“I never had any intention of arresting him.”

“Wait...really?”

“Well, he saved Cullen for a start, and I’m not about to meddle in your business. If you, or Varric, or anyone else for that matter, wanted him found and held accountable for what happened half a decade ago, you would have done it yourselves.”

“Thank you, Evelyn,” Hawke said, squeezing her arm.

“It’s no problem, Marian." 

They both frowned in mild disgust at one another.

“Shall we go back to Hawke and Trev?” Hawke suggested.

“Maker, yes!” Evelyn laughed.    

…

Long after dessert had been cleared away and they had played several rounds of Wicked Grace, Evelyn was still dragging her feet about heading back to the rooms they’d rented to pack and prepare for their early morning departure back across the Waking Sea to Ferelden. 

“Deal another round, Varric!” she cried out, sloshing the wine Fenris had recommended to her from Hawke’s cellar. This led to an amusing argument between a considerably-more-sober Fenris and a drunken Hawke about who had better taste in wine.

Just as Hawke was about to challenge Fenris to somehow _prove_ his taste in wine by chugging a glass Hawke had chosen for him because she thought the bottle was pretty, they heard Porcia barking loudly at the front door.

“Is somebody knocking?” Hawke asked the room as it began to spin, ever-so-slightly.

Nobody had heard anything, but then again, nobody had really been _listening_ for any late-night visitors.

The dog barked again. “Those sound like _happy_ barks…?” Cullen ventured.

“Yeah,” Hawke nodded. “It’s someone Pork knows, for sure. And likes!”

Varric eyed Fenris and Aveline while Hawke raced to the door with an excited grin on her face.

“Do you think she’s back already?”

“It’s been a few weeks,” Fenris shrugged. “And she was pretty disappointed to have missed you and Hawke last time.”

The high-pitched squeals that came from the front door gave them all the confirmation they needed.

“YOU’RE HAVING A PARTY WITHOUT ME?!”

“It’s not a _party_...it’s a fancy dinner! We are entertaining some _very important_ guests,” Hawke snickered. “Come and see!”

“Fuck me…” Isabela gasped as she swaggered into the dining room. “What a collection of assholes!”

Hawke was bouncing up and down on her heels waiting for her to take it all in. Her eyes were obviously drawn to _The_ Iron Bull first, who met her raised eyebrows with a flirtatious wink that did what it needed to do by putting her at ease, then drifted over to Cullen, who tried to hide behind Evelyn as she wet her lips trying to think of the quickest way to make him blush, but it didn’t take long for her to spot Anders huddled at the opposite end of the table. Her eyes lit up with fondness and mischief. The others could wait.

“Aveline, dear, did you know _Anders_ is sitting right across the table from you?”

“I did." Aveline nodded. "We’ve actually had several polite, civilized conversations this evening. Nothing _you_ would understand, of course…”

“And is _Justice_ going to make an appearance tonight, too?” She grinned, ignoring the horrified look on Merrill’s face at the mention of the spirit. “I always did admire the way he could really command a room.”

The lighthearted air seemed to have been suddenly sucked out of the room as everyone went quiet and stared into their glasses or at the table or anywhere but at Anders or Isabela. Well, everyone except Merrill, who looked about to burst into tears as she stared pitifully at Anders, who was staring daggers at the pirate across the room from him.

“What? What’d I miss?”

“A lot, Rivaini…”

“I guess so! Can someone give me the basic synopsis?”

“ _Your_ friends have been helping us find _our_ friend, Dorian,” Evelyn motioned toward Dorian, who cocked his head in acknowledgment. “We tracked him all the way into the Fade, where we defeated an extremely powerful fear demon with the help of a spirit of justice and the ghost of a Warden ally.”

“Don’t forget the part where Merrill’s house imploded!” Hawke reminded her, hiccuping.

“Oh, yes," Evelyn nodded, attempting to look very noble about the whole ordeal. " _And_ Merrill’s house imploded.”

Merrill smiled and nodded cheerfully at the mention.

“All the fun stuff always happens when I’m off doing pirate things!” Isabela whined.

“You would need to stay put long enough to actually get involved…” Aveline grumbled.

“What’s that, Old Girl? You missed me?”

“Not a bit. Kirkwall has been quiet the past few weeks with you all away.”

“You missed me!”

“I _like_ quiet.”

“Are you going to take a seat?" Hawke asked. "Varric was just about to deal another round of Wicked Grace."

Hawke and Evelyn both nodded excitedly.

“I’ll only play if Anders does, too,” Isabela declared.

Anders rolled his eyes and tried to ignore her, but she pulled up a chair and plopped herself right between him and Alarion.

"And who's  _this_? Have you taken a lover? And what does Justice think of him?"

"I wouldn't know," Anders grumbled, while Alarion's cheeks darkened.

"Well, I would _hope_ you'd notice if someone as gorgeous as this man was sharing a bed with you, but you always were a bit funny about that sort of thing…"

Alarion cleared his throat and stood up from the table. "More wine, anyone?"

Isabela watched him walk away with a lascivious smirk on her lips. 

"How are you, dear? It's been too long."

"I was doing better before you showed up and made everyone uncomfortable drawing attention to me."

"Yeah...what's up with that? Why did Merrill almost start crying when I asked about Justice?"

"Because he's gone. In the Fade."

Isabela grimaced. "Shit, Anders! I'm sorry…"

"Well, he hasn't been with me for awhile."

"I didn't realize…"

"It's alright. I left, remember? How could you have known?"

"Well, I like your beard…"

Anders laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Thanks…"

"And that elf?"

"His name is Alarion."

"He really seems to like you!"

"Well, he's currently 'under arrest' for crimes against the Inquisition."

"The good ones are always taken!" She glanced over at Fenris who was watching their conversation with a skeptical frown.

"I've gotta go talk to Old Grumpypants about some recent developments in our _boring_ abolitionist endeavours, but it's really good to see you. Don't disappear before we have a chance to catch up properly!"

A thought suddenly occurred to him and his eyes lit up with almost as much mischief as Isabela's. "I won't!"


	13. The Invasion of Skyhold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn, Cullen, Dorian, Bull, and their prisoner, Alarion return to a Skyhold overrun with Venatori assassins. Dorian has a particularly terrible day.

A hungover Evelyn was not happy that she had to practically drag Dorian and Cullen aboard the ship Harding had chartered for them the next morning. Bull, and even Alarion, who was technically their prisoner, though it was easy to forget that he would be taken directly to the dungeons as soon as they arrived at Skyhold, came along much more willingly. Aveline as Guard-Captain, and Varric as the official Inquisition ambassador in Kirkwall were there to see them off, and Merrill had accompanied them, having woken up as bright and chipper as ever before sunrise. Hawke and the others opted to sleep in and enjoy the comforts of the Hawke estate, which most of them had been missing for the past few weeks, months, and even years, in Anders’ case.

Just like old times, Orana had cinnamon buns baking and coffee brewing by the time Hawke even realized she’d missed her chance to say goodbye.

She rolled over, from dead asleep to wide awake in an instant. “Fenris!” The mid-morning sun was already streaming in through the curtains. “How could you let me sleep in and miss sending Trevelyn and Cully-Wully off?”

Fenris had already gone for a morning run, done his meditations, bathed, dressed, and was reading on the chaise across the room while enjoying a bowl of strawberries with his cinnamon bun and a cup of hot water and lemon, all parts of his routine that he had been missing dearly for quite awhile.

“It’s not really a matter of ‘letting’ you…” he murmured, not looking up from his book.

“Is everyone else gone, too?”

“Isabela just woke up. She’s downstairs with Anders and Orana in the kitchen trying to convince someone to make her an omelette. Your sister said she had to go meet another potential donor for the College. And Merrill went with Varric and Aveline.”

“Why?”

Fenris shrugged, finally looking up at her. “Perhaps she was just being nice?”

“Weird.” She eyed his plate. “Are there anymore cinnamon buns?”

Fenris smiled and shook his head, returning his attention to the book. “I’m sure Orana saved you one.”

Hawke spent the rest of the morning nursing her hangover, gossiping with Isabela and Varric when he returned from the Docks, helping Merrill move more of her stuff into the estate, and insisting on buying Anders a new robe and a trip to the barber.

“You can keep the beard, Anders! But it’s in desperate need of some tidying up. Hobo apostate chic is so... _not_ a thing anymore. And your hair could use a trim, too. The messy man bun still works for you, I think, but the dead ends...you’ve just taken the look way too far.”

“Even _I_ get my glorious chest hair groomed…” Varric bragged, puffing his chest out even more than usual.

Merrill’s eyes lit up. “Really?!”

“Next time, Daisy...I’ll let you tag along to my appointment.”

“Oh! How fun!”

“I just don’t think I need --” Anders began to protest again.

Isabela eyed him knowingly. “No harm in cleaning yourself up! You know...in case you run into anyone _cute_ …”

Anders shot her a quick glare and then turned back to Hawke. “Fine,” he sighed in defeat.

...

An afternoon shopping with and cleaning Anders up turned out to be quite exhausting for both of them, and they headed back to the Hawke estate tired, hungry, and irritable, but not entirely unsuccessful.

“It looks good, you know…” Hawke grumbled, trying not to look like she was admiring him too much. No one could ever call Anders ‘ugly,’ but new clothes and a bit of grooming had certainly reminded her how attractive he was. “I think eating food the past few days has helped a lot, too,” she added, just to annoy him.

“Thanks,” he grunted begrudgingly. He _had_ thought the barber had done a fine job of accentuating the parts of his face that he didn’t completely hate. And the robe he’d picked, after so much fretting, was a nice teal velvet, free-flowing and comfortable, weighted perfectly for his tall lanky frame, with lots of useful pockets inside for potions and herbs and tools. It had gold accents that brought out the amber of his eyes and the various shades of blonde that actually washing his hair had revealed. Even _he_ had to admit that it was nice to look down and appreciate what he was wearing, and how he looked in a mirror for the first time in...well, since he’d come to Kirkwall, really. Justice hadn’t really had much patience for vanity, after all.

But the two of them actually sharing a moment of gratitude and appreciation was short-lived.

“Anders, get behind me…” Hawke muttered, glaring ahead of them into the lengthening shadows of one of Kirkwall’s many winding alleys.

A large sinister-looking figure stepped out, brandishing a Templar’s sword from under his ill-fitting cloak. Several others, smaller in stature, but no less ill-intended emerged behind him. All of them wore hoods or masks to hide their faces. Hawke grinned. Too afraid to even reveal themselves...this would be easy.

“Our beef isn’t with you, Champion. Best get out of the way,” the big one muttered.

Hawke laughed. “I thought we routed all you inbred mage-haters out of the city years ago! Show your faces, you cowards!”

“We represent Kirkwall. You brought this murderer, this _terrorist_ , back to our city, just as we had begun to rebuild from what he did, and we intend to do what you could not five years ago before he does anymore harm.”

“Kirkwall is BETTER NOW, you idiot! Are you so blinded by your ignorance and hate that you don’t see it?”

“I ask you once more, to please step aside. And let this man answer for his crimes.”

“No.”

“You don’t have to do this...” Anders muttered behind her. 

“Oh, shut up. You know I do!” she said through gritted teeth, refusing to take her eyes off of the menacing group forming in front of them.

“Very well, then. Try not to kill the Champion, but if you must...” He motioned toward them with his sword and the rest of the group swarmed out of the alley, swords and knives and bows out in front of them. There were far more of them than Hawke had imagined, but they were clearly not trained or very well-organized, and many of their weapons were makeshift or old family heirlooms, heavy and rusted. Most of them didn’t stand a chance. Anders noticed several of the hooded figures were small, child-sized, even for dwarves, and he felt his stomach drop.

“Hawke, don’t!” he shouted. “They’re mostly civilians! And children!”

“They want to kill you!” Hawke shouted back, daggers flashing as she unsheathed them, ready to pounce on the first person who dared to attack. “Civilian or not!”

Anders was panicking. He didn’t want this. This is precisely why he’d hidden himself away in a cave for five years. He felt himself reaching for Justice, trying to will him to take over. He didn’t want to be here, he didn’t want to see this, didn’t want to be a witness or to have to decide between his own life and that of someone else, let alone a child, however murderous. Justice could make those hard decisions. Justice could protect him from the guilt. But Justice was gone.

“Faith and Justice send their regards…” a familiar voice murmured. In his head? Mostly...though his shimmering presence was beginning to coalesce nearby. _Compassion_.

“Cole! Can you help?!”

The figure nodded, and Hawke did a double-take when she finally noticed him.

“Who…?”

“Nevermind! Get out of the way, Hawke!”

She stepped aside as the shimmering spirit-boy-thing walked right into Anders, and a blinding golden light exploded out of him, pushing the angry mob back as they shielded their eyes.

“Abomination!” the leader of the group cried out, his cloak thrown back revealing full Templar armor underneath, though it was ill-fitting and unpolished. “We must kill him before he transforms into a demon!” 

But many of the others had begun to back away, lowering their weapons, pulling their friends and family members along with them.

“Your friends are smart.” Hawke grinned at the man, sauntering up to him with a swagger that Anders had always both loved and hated in equal measure. “Show me that Templar sword again, big man.”

He raised his sword in front of himself defensively, but he couldn’t hide his trembling.

“And take off that stupid hood!” Hawke whipped one of her daggers up and knocked his hood back to reveal a plump-faced, orange-haired man with a ruddy complexion. He looked terrified. “Ah, of course! Ser Mettin! Who let you back into the city? I thought we’d made it quite clear you weren’t welcome here after you threatened to...hmmm...what did you say about my sister? ‘Put that little witch in her place’?”

She dragged her dagger across his cheek, tracing the line of a scar that ran from his ear to his nose. “Bethany gave you _this_ with one flick of her wrist, but you deserved worse. My sister really is the kind and benevolent one of the family. She’s busy at the moment, so I’ll go ahead and finish you off for her.”

“This is my city, too! You and your sister and your friends can’t just do as you please!”

“Why not? Meredith and the Templars certainly did for more than a decade…”

“That was different!”

“You’re right. _She_ was cruel and abusive and driven to madness by her greed for power. _We’ve_ just been trying to _help_ this Maker-forsaken city.”

“Hawke, let him go,” Anders said. Cole was back beside him, watching curiously as Hawke pressed her dagger against his other cheek.

“He doesn’t deserve that…” she mused, sliding the dagger down his jaw to his throat. “How many other mages did you ‘put in their place,’ Mettin?”

Suddenly a barrier flashed between Hawke and Mettin, and the man winced, half expecting it to have been some kind of killing spell.

“Let him go!”

Hawke turned around, livid with Anders for interfering with her kill, and it gave Mettin just enough time to throw his hood back up over his head and take off in the other direction.

“Go back to the estate!” she shouted angrily, preparing to pursue him.

“It’s not worth it, Hawke,” Anders sighed.

“I know...he’s pathetic, right? Totally out of shape...I bet he dies of a heart attack before I even get to slit his throat.”

Anders looked at her pleadingly, those damn doe eyes of his begging mercy for the man who’d just tried to incite an angry mob against them. She’d always had a weakness for them, and especially now, with his hair pulled back away from his face, and the new robe with its contrasting teal and gold drawing all her attention to them.

“Fuck, Anders! But he’s complete garbage,” she whined.

“So forget him. Let’s just go.”

Hawke stared longingly down the dark alley, then sighed. “Fine…”

It was evening by the time they returned to the Hawke estate and told the others about their run-in with Mettin and his gang of cowardly vigilantes. There was a weird tension between everyone as they sat and ate their dinner quietly together. Hawke assumed it was due to the many revelations of the past few days finally sinking in, or maybe their recent attack, or a noticeable lack of alcohol. Whatever the case, she was _tired_ , she realized, so she excused herself early from everyone else’s company, and headed back up to bed before the sun had even finished setting. Varric and then Isabela left shortly thereafter, with winks and nods at all of them. With an unconvincing yawn, Anders announced he was going to sleep outside in the gardens, leaving Merrill the choice of whatever guest bedroom she wished. Fenris wandered up to find Hawke sound asleep, and bent down to kiss her forehead lightly with a fond smile on his face. He pulled the blanket up over her shoulders and then headed back down to the study. 

Merrill was waiting for him, anxiously pacing around the room, as he scribbled out a note.

“He’s already gone!” she whispered.

“Don’t worry. She won’t leave without us," he assured her, grabbing his sword on their way out.

...

"Where are you going?" Fenris growled, emerging from the shadows after trailing Anders all the way to the Docks.

Anders whipped around, staff in hand. "You _followed_ me?!"

"We followed you because we were worried you were going to disappear again, lethallin!" Merrill peered around from behind Fenris, her eyes pleading with him to understand. “After what happened today…no one would blame you!” 

Anders lowered his staff and groaned, "This was _always_ the deal, remember? I agreed to help with Cullen. And you all agreed to let me leave. I can’t stay here. I’m sorry. I just...can't."

"But…"

"He's right, Merrill..."

"I knew _you'd_ have no problem with this arrangement, Fenris!" Anders sounded a little more bitter than he'd intended.

Fenris eyed him patiently and waited to see if he had anything else to say, before continuing. "We'll just have to go _with_ him, like we discussed..."

" _What_?" Anders had been fully ready for an argument, complete with threats and insults to send them away with the final impression that he didn't care about them and certainly didn't care what _they_ might have thought of _him_. But once again, he'd been caught completely off guard by Fenris' damn _kindness_.

Before he could think of any kind of retort, Isabela leaned out of a window from the captain's quarters and called down to them, "All aboard, sluts!"

"Wait! I don't understand…"

Merrill was beaming back at him as she skipped up the gangway. "We're going to help you rescue Alarion!" she sang.

Anders looked up at Isabela. "Did _you_ …?"

"I don't know what any of you are talking about. Me and my crew are just headed to Ferelden looking for some honest work. How was I to know you three stowaways had snuck aboard my ship with nefarious intentions?"

Merrill giggled. "Oh, right. We're meant to be _sneaking_!"

"You don't have to --" Anders began to try and dissuade his friends one last time. 

"Shhhhh!" Merrill hissed, pressing her finger to his lips.

Fenris brought his own finger to his lips with a playful smile and nodded in agreement.

"Hurry up! We might be able to beat those Inquisition dorks back to Ferelden!” Isabela called down to them. 

\---

_Hawke,_

_Doing something for a friend._

_Be back soon._

_Love,_

_Fenris_

\---

"Varric...what the fuck is this?" Hawke shoved the letter into his face as he entered the estate. It was early, especially early for Hawke to be up and about...and so _angry_.

"Hmm… sounds like Broody had something to take care of?" He shrugged, unconvincingly.

"You don't know anything about this? We all _just_ got home. Isabela's back...I thought maybe we could settle in for a bit and have some fun like old times!"

"Rivaini's ship left last night," he informed her, beginning to look a little sheepish.

"What?! So she's run off with my boyfriend _again_?"

"Blondie and Daisy are gone, too…"

"Well, _that_ sounds like a complete disaster! Why doesn't anybody ever take _me_ along? Why do I have to spy on you all and stow away on the ships you take in order to spend time with my friends?!"

"Well, you're loud, obnoxious, make everything about you…"

"Fuck off…"

"What?! Only a true friend would be honest with you! Besides, these are the things we love about you!"

"We're going after them, right?"

"Nah. I mean, you can if you really want to. But I've had enough travel for a while. Got a lot to take care of here. Bran is on my ass about the money to get the Harbor nets fully-operational again. Besides, I have a feeling they'll be back soon enough…"

"Varric... _WHAT_ do you know?!" She was suddenly looming over him.

He shook his head. "I owed Fenris a few favors…"

"You better start talking, dwarf!"

Varric had been slowly but steadily backing his way out of the Hawke estate. "He made me promise!" he shouted over his shoulder as he turned and hurried out the door.

...

When Evelyn, Cullen, Dorian, Bull, and Alarion arrived at Skyhold several days later, late in the evening, Cassandra met them at the gates, looking furious.

“Where have you all been?!” she yelled angrily. “Your mother hasn’t left her room in days, Dorian, and there are far too many of _her_ guards here for my comfort. We keep getting RSVPs to Sera and Dagna’s wedding shot over the ramparts via arrow or snuck into the supply caravans. I have yet to see an actual date or any arrangements being made...and one of the brides is still missing! Things are out of control here, Inquisitor!”

“I’m sorry, Cassandra. We’re here now. Let’s deal with Lady Thalrassian first, and reunite her with her _beloved_ son.”

Dorian scowled at her. His mother was the last person he wished to see. What he really wanted was a tall mug of cheap Dwarven ale from the Herald’s Rest and a good night’s sleep curled up next to Bull.

“Cullen, take Alarion elsewhere...I don’t know what might happen if she sees _him_ ,” Evelyn sighed.

Cullen grabbed Alarion’s arm and took him along to the dungeons while Dorian tried not to even notice. After a look of concern that was met with a dismissive hand wave, Bull went to go catch up with the Chargers at the tavern.

As Dorian, Evelyn and Cassandra made their way up to Aquinea’s suite, Dorian leaned in and whispered to Cassandra, “When did these guards come?”

“Around a week ago, shortly after Magistra Tilani headed back to Tevinter to deal with something urgent in the Magisterium. Completely unnecessary if you ask me, but your mother insisted she needed _her own_ protection.”

“I don’t recognize any of them.”

“Hmmm...that _is_ a concern,” she murmured, eyeing one of the guards who was posted in the corridor Aquinea had taken over with suspicion.

They arrived at her door and Dorian knocked impatiently. “Mother, your glorious son has arrived!” he announced.

The door unlocked and Dorian pushed it open. He was grabbed by the shoulders and pulled abruptly inside.

“Dorian!” Aquinea shouted, and the door slammed on Evelyn and Cassandra before they could follow him inside. 

It took a second for Dorian to even realize what was happening. There were two guards holding him, and another standing beside of Aquinea, who was tied up and sitting on a chair. A fourth person stood facing Dorian, a satisfied sneer on his face.

“Mother?!” Dorian cried, struggling against the guards, who pulled his arms tightly behind his back and kicked his staff away. “What the fuck is this?!”

“Son,” Aquinea said while nodding with her typical noble coolness, determined not to show any fear in her eyes, even in her current predicament.

“Glad to have you back, Dorian,” the sneering man said, as he activated an amulet of some kind that sent shocks of pain through his body and severed him from his magic. It felt like his body and his soul had been suddenly wrenched apart.

“Have the Venatori sold themselves out to the Templars?” he grunted, trying to compose himself, but he was still not quite as good as his mother at this sort of thing. “What corrupted magic is this?”

“A bit of old and new magic...surely you recognize red lyrium…?”

“I know it’ll drive you mad if you spend enough time around it, which explains why you think you’ll get away with whatever _this_ is supposed to be...a _coup_? How cute.”

“This isn’t about the _Inquisition_ , you foolish ingrate!” he laughed. “It’s between you and those who wish to restore the might of the Imperium. If the Inquisition wishes to interfere, then so be it.”

“I believe the Inquisition has already decimated the majority of your agents in Ferelden, Orlais, Nevarra, and the Free Marches without even blinking an eye.”

”Perhaps. But you were overconfident in returning to Tevinter with your ideals and fantasies. You condemn our traditions, you _pay_ your _slaves_ , you dare to represent us as part of the old world, you refer to us as ‘relics,’ our ways ‘irrelevant’ and ‘small-minded,’ rejecting Tevinter after reaping the benefits of thousands of years of our superiority...”

“So you’ve kidnapped my mother because... _I_ think ill of slavery? Trust me, _she_ has no problem with maintaining the status quo.”

Aquinea’s proud expression gave way a bit then, and Dorian noticed, with some minor regret, but if he tried to give her an apologetic nod or a conspiratorial wink, he was certain the jig would have been up.

“You’ve made FOOLS of some of the most prominent families in Tevinter with your idealistic _Lucerni_. You’ve inspired uprisings across the Imperium with your ‘modern’ ideas. We must eradicate your movement, starting where it began, with both the Pavus and the Tilani families, in order to send the message that this is not to be tolerated!”

“Yes, yes, I understand that progress is scary and threatening to your backwards thinking, but...I ask again. Are you insane? If your problem is with _me_...then let my mother go.”

“Hurry up, Golding!” one of the other guards urged. “I hear fighting outside...”

“The only people making fools of anyone from Tevinter are the nug brains working with the Venatori, especially Venatori so stupid to try and invade the Inquisition from the inside out,” Aquinea said, finally breaking her cold silence.

Golding smiled. “Gallus, bring her forward...”

The guard, Gallus, presumably, forced Aquinea to stand up and brought her closer.

“Yes, manhandle the old woman,” she muttered, struggling against him.

“Shut up!” he snapped back, tightening his grip on her arms.

“You see, Dorian...” Golding pulled out a knife from his belt. “You are NOT to speak for Tevinter anymore.”

He placed the blade on Aquinea’s throat. She kept her face steady as the man pressed the blade in hard, drawing droplets of blood. Dorian’s eyes widened in panic.

“NO!” Dorian screamed. 

Aquinea looked at Dorian, her face softening uncharacteristically in an attempt to reassure her son that it was ok.

“Any last words, dear?” Golding said, the sinister smile on his face spreading into an all-out grin.

“Yes, actually,” she said, winking at Dorian. “Never underestimate an old, bitter woman.”

They didn’t have a chance to react as Aquinea threw her head backwards and into Gallus’ face. He yelped in pain and grabbed his nose, which was already gushing with blood from the blow. Without hesitation, she launched her foot up and kicked Golding straight in the nether regions, causing him to double over, completely incapacitated.

“YOU LOW-BRED BITCH!” he screamed at her, dropping the amulet that had disrupted Dorian’s magic.

“Oh Golding, dear, you were _never_ going to survive this...” she said, shaking her head pitifully as the two men struggled to regain their composure. She reached with her foot for the amulet and dragged it within stomping range, then shattered it with one hard smash of her heel, sending shards of red lyrium flying.

“Mother, are you insane?” Dorian said, ducking behind one of the guards who was restraining him. But he was unable to contain his admiration for her in that moment, as a powerful static charge began to build up around him and the room seemed to fill with its own magical electricity. He cast a cascade of lightning that knocked Gallus back again and Golding down to the ground, unconscious. Then Dorian shrugged the now-paralyzed guards off of himself easily. He rushed over and began untying his mother.

Aquinea held her hand to her chest and exclaimed, “Dorian, I _am_ proud of you! I’m sorry I was so foolish! Do not let these weak men deter you from your noble pursuits, do not let them win!”

“I don’t intend to do anything of the sort…” he said, sending a lightning bolt across the room to strike Gallus who’d been trying to take cover in the corner.

He heard someone attempting to break the door down through sheer physical force outside.

“Let’s go, Mother...someone will be along to collect the trash…” 

Dorian offered her his hand, but Aquinea shook her head, a pained look on her face.

“What is it?” he asked.

She pulled her hands away from her chest, revealing an alarming amount of blood that had begun to pool and soak through the layers of her clothing.

“But...it was just a little cut…” Dorian stammered, falling to his knees at her side and scrambling to help.

“The amulet…” she gasped, pointing to her heart as the blood continued to pulse out steadily from the hole one of the shards of red lyrium had pierced in her chest.

“No! Hold on...we have healers…” he cried desperately, standing up and hurrying to the door. “EVELYN! A HEALER! NOW!”

“The door has been...enchanted...somehow…” she called out to him from the other side.

As Dorian began frantically casting lightning bolts at the door to get it open, Gallus inched his way quietly toward Aquinea. “This is for Tevinter,” he whispered in her ear and wasted no time pulling his knife across her throat, causing even more blood to spray across the room and pool onto her chest below.

Dorian turned just in time to see the life leave his mother’s eyes, and he sent a lightning bolt straight for the assassin’s heart, killing him instantly. 

“No no no no…” He rushed back to her and collapsed into her blood-soaked lap. “Not like _this_ …” 

The door flew open in a brittle explosion of ice as Cassandra bashed through it with her shield, knocking the paralyzed guards down with it. Evelyn was right behind her, holding her staff out. Distant sounds of fighting flooded in from the rest of the castle.

“Dorian!” Evelyn cried, seeing Dorian splattered in blood, and his mother’s lifeless frame fall over him.

He looked up hopelessly at her, as she surveyed the rest of the room. At least one of the assassins was dead, and two more were knocked out cold. But Golding had begun to come to. Dorian’s face became suddenly ruthless as he stood up, and his mother’s bloodied body slumped the rest of the way to the floor, her eyes still open but unseeing.

Evelyn’s grip tightened on her staff, and she flung an ice bolt towards him, freezing him on the spot while Dorian walked over to him, a look of pure disgust on his face as he looked down at him, appearing more ‘Tevinter’ than she had ever seen him. Evelyn picked up his staff and threw it to him. Dorian stood over him and plunged the end of his staff into Golding’s chest, and he exploded in a shower of ice and frozen bits of flesh and bone. 

“Go help the others...I’ll take these two to the dungeons,” Dorian said, his voice hoarse.

Evelyn nodded, and hurried back down the hall toward the sound of more fighting, while Cassandra helped Dorian tie up the remaining guards before hurrying off herself to regain control of the castle.

“You see?” Dorian admonished the men as they began to regain consciousness. “You should have killed _me_ , you inbred mouth-breathers...” But he didn’t have it in him to come up with any more insults, so he sighed, and dragged them along down to the dungeons.

… 

As the three Kirkwall degenerates approached Skyhold a little later that evening, they looked at each other in alarm. They could hear fighting coming from within the mountain fortress, the sounds and sensations of people shouting, swords clashing, and magic being hurled. An all-out alarm was raised, and they watched as the guards posted along the ramparts disappeared into the main parts of the castle below to defend it.

“Wonderful,” Fenris groaned. “It seems Skyhold is under attack.”

“This might actually work to our benefit…” Anders said, sounding more intrigued than alarmed.

“Hmm...I suppose there _is_ something to be said for having the Inquisition’s attention elsewhere.”

“What about our friends, though? We have to help them!”

Anders and Fenris looked at each other, then looked at Merrill.

“We are here for Alarion,” Anders said firmly. “Once I’ve gotten him out of here, you can do whatever you’d like. But if you give them any indication about where we’ve gone --”

“Oh, don’t worry! I won’t!”

Fenris looked more skeptical. “Isabela won't stay in Jader for very long. If we miss her, it could take weeks to get back home, assuming we’re not locked away in Skyhold’s dungeons ourselves.”

“Okay, I understand,” Merrill scowled. “No helping any of our _other_ friends who are clearly very much in need of our assistance…”

“Alarion first!” Anders reiterated. “And then you two can argue about whatever else you wish to do here while Alarion and I are battling creepy spiders and darkspawn in the Deep Roads…”

Merrill and Fenris both nodded resolutely and the three of them pulled up their hoods and snuck into the castle unnoticed while the Inquisition guards and soldiers were preoccupied with the Venatori assassins.

“According to Varric’s map, the dungeons should be that way…” Anders pointed toward the northeast corner of the courtyard, past the grand main entrance, where a group of Inquisition soldiers were fighting a group of Venatori.

Merrill petrified one of the Venatori from across the courtyard and the Inquisition soldier brought his sword down upon them, reducing the assassin to a pile of rubble. Anders glared back at her and she shrugged, smiling, while the soldier stared in awe at his own sword, trying to figure out what had happened. It bought them enough time to hurry across the courtyard undetected to the dungeon’s entrance, leading them down below the castle gardens.

As they reached the bottom of the first set of stairs, they found two Inquisition guards out cold on the floor, “but not quite dead!” Merrill whispered, triumphantly, dragging them into an open cell for their own safety. They could hear frantic voices echoing further down into the lower level of the dungeons, so they proceeded cautiously.

“Golding is dealing with Pavus and his mother,” one of them said, catching her breath.

“Good. Even if we don’t make it out of here, we will have fulfilled our purpose to the Venatori and the Imperium,” another answered, sounding a bit unconvinced of his own words. 

“The others can deal with Tilani when or _if_ she ever reappears above ground,” a third voice said.

“You won’t get away with this!” Alarion shouted from one of the lower cells.

They heard a flurry of steps down the remaining stairs as the assassins went to investigate. Without hesitation, Anders pursued them down to the next level, with Merrill and Fenris following behind.

“Do we know why he had his bodyguard imprisoned?” the woman asked. “I thought they were romantically-involved, according to his mother?”

“Spying and kidnapping...though I suspect there’s more to it than that.”

“He’s an elf. An escaped slave, from what I heard.”

Fenris bristled under his cloak, his lyrium marks flaring, threatening to give them away in the dim light. 

“There’s _always_ more to it with the knife-ears. Sneaky bastards...”

Merrill reached for Fenris’ arm, her eyes searching his. And Anders turned to look at them both with a grim nod. He hadn’t _really_ fought in close combat like this, outside of the Fade, of course, in a very long time. He wasn’t entirely sure he still knew how.

“We could perhaps use him as a bargaining chip to get out of here?” the woman suggested. She was clearly the most intelligent of the three.

Alarion laughed. “If I was important, why would I be down here?” The hopeless resignation in his voice pulled at Anders’ heart. 

“Good point…”

“Seems you’ve been forgotten, lad…”

“Still, desperate times. Maybe we could use him as a shield while we make a break for it? And if he does survive, he may have some useful information for us.”

“I’m not going to tell you anything!” Alarion spat.

“Hush and hold still, while I blast this lock apart…”

Anders had heard enough, and he rushed forward, staff out in front of him. “I suggest you leave him alone now!” he shouted, sounding far more confident than he felt.

Merrill began to follow him, but Fenris put out his arm and held her back out of their view. If any more Venatori decided to try and come down here seeking refuge in the dungeons, they would need to cover their rear. Fenris was also quite confident Anders could handle three Venatori on his own, even if Anders himself had a hard time believing it.

“Who’s this, then?” One of the Venatori stepped toward him, holding a dagger menacingly at the mage. The other two stood behind him, a mage with his staff held high and a warrior with her great sword ready.

“He blew up the Chantry in Kirkwall, I wouldn’t push him,” Alarion said, not even bothering to hide the enormous grin that had spread across his face at the sight of him.

“This is _the_ Anders?” the Venatori mage said incredulously. “Aren’t _you_ a pathetic-looking old has-been!”

“Yes. I am. Er...all of those things,” he stammered. “So you should leave this man alone and help your friends upstairs, because they’re looking even worse than I am.”

The men began to laugh at him, the one who initially spoke up actually lowered his dagger in his fit of laughter, while the warrior peered at him curiously. Anders took this as his opportunity to strike.

He slammed down his staff and a ring of fire appeared around them. The man with the dagger screamed in pain as the flames engulfed him. The other two completely ignored him as they prepared to fight.

They acted together quickly, the mage cast a wall of ice behind Anders, preventing him from backing away, while the other advanced on him, swinging her heavy blade and just barely missing him by less than an inch as Anders ducked and her sword hit the ice with a loud crash, but the ice wall remained intact, separating Fenris and Merrill from the fight.

The mage cast Winter’s Ruin and Anders felt the chill of it in his bones. He forced himself to breathe through clenched teeth in order to fight through it, his own magical energy warming him already from the core, and he managed to throw some fireballs at the warrior who had forced him back against the prickling ice. As the warrior ran back toward the mage, flames trailing her as she went, Anders cast a barrier around himself and began to heal while they were both distracted by the fire. 

“Anders look out!” Alarion called out helplessly, as the warrior prepared to slam her sword into the ground with an earth-shattering blow, but his barrier absorbed most of the ensuing damage. He cast Mind Blast on her from across the fissures she’d made, sending her crashing back into the mage before he could conjure another ice storm. With both of them down, and a wave of his staff, he sent fire raining down upon them, burning them both beyond recognition and sending them beyond the Veil.

There was a loud pop and then a crash as the ice wall shattered behind Anders.

Alarion peered into the darkness behind him, assuming more Venatori had arrived, or the Agents of Fen’Harel had finally caught up to him and were here to deal with him once and for all.

Two hooded figures stood framed in the torchlight. One was quite short...and bouncy, and looking a bit sheepish. The other stood a little further back in the shadows, glowing blue-white under their cloak. Alarion had still not really recovered from his experience with spirits and demons and ghosts in the Fade, and while he tried to keep an open mind about such things, he wasn’t entirely sure he was ready to meet another such being _outside_ of the Fade. But he trusted Anders. More than he knew he should. And he _knew_ that the short bouncy figure was _mostly_ harmless...unless of course you ruined any of her flower pressings.

"Who let you out of Kirkwall?" he mused.

"Oh! We’re actually allowed to come and go as we please!" she said quite excitedly, pushing her oversized hood out of the way. "But Anders and --"

The glowing figure coughed loudly. Alarion wasn’t sure that was something spirits did.

"Sorry! Right. You're not supposed to know it's us, I guess?" Merrill ducked back under her hood.

"Oh, don't worry. I won't tell anyone…" he laughed. 

Anders sighed in exasperation and pulled his own hood completely off. He rushed over to the cell and began fidgeting with the lock, but lockpicking was not one of his skill sets.

"We're getting you out of here," Anders assured him, wishing they’d thought to drag Isabela, or Varric, or Hawke, or anyone with any proficiency at picking locks along with them.

" _We_?"

"Well, _they_ are here for moral support, mostly." He turned and smiled appreciatively back at his friends. "We’ll be leaving by separate routes. That is, if you... _want_ to come with _me_...”

“We wanted to come along, but Anders explained that you probably needed to disappear, and we’ve already done that before and I don’t, um, do very well...away from…my...home.” Her eyes drifted off a little as she realized she didn’t really have one. Again. “Oh.”

“Well, thank you for coming to help!” Alarion smiled. “Even though I _am_ quite shit at pressing flowers.”

“But you and _Anders_ running away! It’s very romantic!”

Anders was blushing and muttering at the ground. "Yes. Well...this isn't like -- I'm not expecting…” He looked up at Alarion. “I just don't think you deserve to be locked away in a cell like this. So wherever you'd like to go...I can help you get there. I have a lot of experience running away from things in Ferelden."

"Did you think I was only flirting with you back in Kirkwall to take advantage of your kindness?” Alarion looked suddenly concerned. “To appeal to your sense of justice?"

"No, but I wouldn't have blamed you if you were. Nobody _enjoys_ being held as a prisoner."

The unknown figure, who had stopped glowing, cleared their throat impatiently. Alarion was beginning to think he recognized the stiff upright posture, the huge sword slung behind him under his cloak, and the way he could _feel_ him scowling disapprovingly under his hood at nearly everything the mage said, more out of habit than any actual malice.

"Right, well, we need to pick this lock and get going before anyone notices you’re missing. The Venatori timed their attack rather nicely to give us some cover, but it sounds like the Inquisition forces have easily overwhelmed them.”

“Good. Maybe they’ll finally leave Dorian alone…”

“Who’s down there?! More Venatori scum? I am growing tired of wasting my magic on you filth!”

Fenris grabbed Merrill and pulled her into an empty cell before Dorian appeared dragging the two assassins with him. Anders stood defiantly in front of Alarion’s cell.

Dorian glanced around, at the three dead Venatori, and then fixed his gaze on Anders standing there like some noble protector. “Oh for fuck’s sake...what is this? A _rescue_ attempt?”

“He didn’t do anything wrong,” Anders asserted.

“I’m not the one who put him in here, and frankly, at this point, I’d much prefer he just disappear. I _tried_ to let him run off into the woods once I realized he was a liar and a traitor, but…”

“Dorian…” Alarion began.

“Don’t! You can’t make this right. My mother is dead, and we’ve been dealing with an entire castle full of assassins. I’m _tired_ , Alarion...too tired to hear any more of your apologies or explanations.”

“I’m...sorry. About your mother. Let us help…”

“No. If Cullen sees you…” He turned to Anders. “...or if Cassandra sees _you_ , there’s no way either of you will make it out of here without having to answer for your crimes.”

Dorian threw the half-conscious assassins in a cell and then turned back to Alarion, raising his staff.

Anders’ grip tightened on his own staff and he glared threateningly at Dorian.

“I’d move if I were you…” Dorian warned, half-heartedly.

“I _won’t_ let you --”

Dorian sighed and sent a bolt of electricity toward the lock on Alarion’s cell. It fell to the ground with a loud clank. “Go. I don’t care where. Just... _go_.”

“Thank you, Dorian.” Alarion hesitated. “You should know my feelings for you were real…”

Anders was staring awkwardly at the ground. All his heroic notions banished with the sudden reminder that there had, up until very recently, been something between the two men he currently stood in the middle of.

“I know,” Dorian admitted, looking a bit melancholy for a moment before his face hardened again. “Now GO!”

Anders tried to glare fiercely at him as he and Alarion passed by, but Dorian seemed entirely unbothered, almost relieved to see them go. They tried not to give away Merrill and Fenris’ whereabouts as they passed by the cell they were hiding in. Merrill gave a little wave, and Fenris tilted his head urgently toward the exit. They all knew that this would have to be goodbye for awhile.


	14. The Calm After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian has a lot to think about after the Venatori assault on Skyhold. Bull, Cullen, and Cassandra help him out. Merrill and Fenris part ways. Anders and Alarion march through the snow. And Sera finally shows up.

Dorian slumped against the dungeon wall, bracing himself against the cool stone, and closing his eyes. He was trying to gather his thoughts for a quiet moment before heading back up into the castle to survey the damages when he heard the telltale hitch in Bull’s step as he descended the stairs behind him.

“Is this mess your handiwork?”

“No.”

“Didn’t think so...” Bull eyed the half-immolated remains. “You usually do a better job of cleaning up after yourself.”

Dorian sighed.

“Pretty sure I just saw The Healer and your ex take out a few more of them on their way out of here?”

“Most likely…”

“You let them go, eh?”

“I’m exhausted, amatus.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I think you did the right thing. Just don’t tell Cullen.”

Dorian laughed weakly. He didn’t want to think about having to explain himself to Cullen or, Maker forbid, Evelyn.

“Don’t tell me _what_?” Cullen huffed. He was dragging a stunned Venatori mage down the steps.

“Commander!” Bull cried triumphantly. “Good show out there! I think we got the last of them who were holed up in here.”

Cullen looked at the singe marks and corpses on the ground. “Couldn’t get any of the rest of them into a cell?

“They were...uncooperative. Right, Dorian?”

Dorian just shrugged.

“Where is Alarion?”

“Must’ve escaped in the chaos,” Bull said with a smirk.

Cullen looked at him suspiciously, then at Dorian, who looked like he was already done with _this_ conversation. He shoved his prisoner into the cell next to Fenris and Merrill, who was doing her best to help them blend into the stone with her magic.

“What exactly am I supposed to do here?” Cullen asked, exasperated.

“Let Alarion go,” Dorian muttered. “None of this is _his_ fault. The Venatori would’ve come after me no matter what. These ‘Agents of Fen’Harel’ may have actually been protecting me, for all I know.”

“Are you sure? Evelyn may want to pursue him anyway…he’s the only one of them we’ve ever identified or had a chance to talk to.”

“Tell her I said it would be a waste of time and resources. He doesn’t know anything.”

“Very well. I’ll...think of something to tell her. Care to come help me round up the other prisoners?”

“We’ll be right there, Commander…" Bull could see what a toll the day’s events had taken on Dorian as he stared listlessly in front of him.

Cullen looked sympathetically at Dorian, but couldn’t think of anything to say that didn’t feel trite or inadequate. He nodded at them both and headed back up out of the dungeons.

Dorian sighed again and stood up from the wall. “We know you’re both here…” he called out, as soon as Cullen had left.

Merrill peeked out from the cell. “Please don’t be mad!”

“Are you working with the Venatori?” Bull asked with a huge grin.

“Oh no! Of course not!”

“Then you’re all good,” he laughed.

Fenris audibly sighed and emerged from the cell as well. “We can’t stay, Merrill…we have to get back to the coast. We don’t want Hawke getting any ideas about coming to rescue _us_.”

“But you just got here! I’m sure the Boss would be happy to see you both again.”

“You’d have to explain how your timing just _happened_ to coincide with Alarion’s disappearance and a Venatori attack, of course…” Dorian drawled.

“We’ll say you forgot something in Kirkwall and we just wanted to make sure we brought it back to you!”

Bull smiled. “And what might that be?”

“Well, I haven’t figured that part out yet!”

Fenris was frowning. “This is ridiculous,” he groaned.

“Tell you what...if you help us clean up the castle, we’ll put in a good word for you with the Boss,” Bull winked.

“I would rather just sneak out the way we came…” Fenris muttered.

Merrill turned, looking up pleadingly at him, and Bull looked down at him, a similar expression on his face. Even Dorian had seemed to perk up at the possibility of spending a little more time with Merrill. She certainly had a unique way of looking at personal tragedy, at least, and Bull was right. She had an oddly comforting presence.

“You can stay if you want, obviously, but I don’t intend to miss that ship back to Kirkwall. You’ll be on your own...”

“No she won’t! She’ll be with _us_!” Bull roared, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “C’mon!” Bull said, leading her up the stairs with Dorian. “I can’t wait for you to meet the boys!” 

Merrill looked back over her shoulder at Fenris. “Hang on…” she said, scampering back down the stairs. She wrapped her arms around Fenris and squeezed him tight around the waist, burying her face in his chest. They had been travelling together for most of the past year.

“I don’t know when I’ll be back in Kirkwall, so this is goodbye for a little bit! Please let Hawke and Varric know I’ll be fine,” she muttered, trying to hold back tears.

“Of course,” Fenris smiled warmly, wrapping his arms around her shoulders.

"Do you think they'll be happy?" Merrill whispered, looking up at him. “Anders and Alarion, I mean…”

"No. Not in a ‘happily ever after’ sort of way, at least," he sighed. “Anders is still a Grey Warden. He is lucky he’s avoided the Calling as long as he has. It would be foolish for them to make any kind of long-term plans for a future together."

"Aren't you happy, though? When you’re with Hawke? Regardless of what the future may hold?"

"Yes. Indescribably so. But being with Hawke, being _in love_ with her, also makes the thought of ever living without her...impossible.” He looked down at her, an odd look of realization and panic on his face.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just...I just really miss her.”

"You should tell her that as soon as you get home!” Merrill beamed up at him. She squeezed him one more time, then hurried up the stairs to rejoin Bull and Dorian.

He waited for the three of them to leave, then headed up out of the dungeons himself, hoping to avoid being seen while they had everyone distracted with Merrill's big reveal.

...

The Venatori had been no match for the Inquisition forces at Skyhold, and the fight had subsided quickly. The cleanup, however, was another matter entirely, since they’d come with red lyrium in various forms and had no qualms about using blood magic to poison and enthrall as many Inquisition soldiers as they could. Luckily, Cole was on hand, and Merrill proved quite useful as well in helping to ‘dis-enthrall’ the soldiers whose souls had been bound to the now-dead Venatori mages. Dagna helped with the red lyrium, using her newly-developed inoculation process for anyone who had been exposed to the stuff, but several areas of the castle would need to be quarantined for awhile and it would be several days before business as usual could resume in the courtyard.

After a long night of dragging half-conscious bodies to the dungeons or the infirmary and assisting Merrill with a few complicated rituals, Dorian had wandered off, intending to collapse into the comfort of his old bed. He hadn’t made it to his room yet, when the first rays of sunlight began to rise over the mountains. Next to the balcony in Evelyn’s suite, the eastern ramparts were the best vantage point in Skyhold for appreciating a sunrise over the Frostbacks, something he suddenly realized he had missed very much, so he stopped, leaning back against the stone, to take it all in.

Cullen must have had a similar thought as he made his way back to his offices to clean himself up. He had managed to gain a few nasty cuts during the fighting, but nothing that some bandages and some elfroot potion couldn’t handle, of course, so he came and stood next to Dorian, haphazardly slinging an arm around him.

“This was some welcome home, huh?” Cullen said, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

“Indeed...” Dorian let out a heavy sigh, sinking gratefully against him. “They killed my mother. I’m sure they killed my father, too. And they would’ve killed me if they weren’t so fucking incompetent. I’ll need to warn Mae, too, though I suspect she knows by now that something was up. They must’ve invented the ‘emergency’ in the Imperium to get her away from Mother...she would’ve never let this happen.”

“I’m so sorry, Dorian.”

“We didn’t see eye to eye, but she _was_ my mother.”

“She cared about you Dorian, enough to come to Skyhold and almost knock the entrance down to find you.”

“It’s the one thing we had in common, making an entrance...” He smiled.

“We’ll make sure she gets a proper funeral and burial in Tevinter. Both you and your mother’s remains will be under Inquisition protection for as long as you’d like.”

“Thanks Cullen, but I do not wish to lay her to rest anywhere near that backwards place.”

“But what would _she_ have wanted?”

Dorian squinted at the horizon, then looked down as his eyes began to tear up from the intense brightness of the morning sunlight.

“ _She_ would’ve wanted to be buried at her family’s estate, in Vyrantium. Near the rose garden. She was always happiest there. With a glass of wine and a servant fanning her.”

“That sounds... _nice_...”

“Hm…”

They stood in silence for the remainder of the sunrise, until Dorian turned, with earnest gratitude in his eyes. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem. That’s what family is for,” Cullen said, frowning as he realized that Dorian had just lost the only other member of his _actual_ family. “Shit! I mean...your Inquisition family…er…” He laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Why am I so bad at this?” 

Dorian laughed, too. “I won’t be a part of _this_ family if you don’t get yourself cleaned up. Let me help you with those injuries. We don’t need Evelyn to see you almost died twice because of me.”

“Just scratches. Nothing to worry about. Looks like you have company, anyway,” Cullen said, squeezing Dorian’s shoulder fondly as he headed towards his office. He gave Bull a nod as he walked past.

“Well what do we do now? Take the fight all the way to Tevinter?

“Not right now, I’m tired.”

“A bed _does_ sound nice,” he grinned. “But first, Cassandra asked about you. She seemed to think you might not _want_ to speak with her?”

Dorian sighed, stood up, and headed toward the stairs.

“I’ll be there in 15 minutes to rescue you and carry you off to bed, Kadan!”

...

When Dorian entered Cassandra’s suite, she was staring mindlessly out the window, and didn’t even notice he’d entered the room.

“Whatever is going on out that window must be TRULY fascinating!” Dorian said, trying to peer over her shoulder. Cassandra jumped back and almost flung herself out the window.

“You startled me, Dorian!” she exclaimed.

“It’s usually men I’m trying to get to jump out the window!”

Cassandra rolled her eyes and gestured for Dorian to sit. She pulled out two bottles of cider from a cabinet and slid one towards Dorian. They opened their bottles and Dorian held his out to cheers her.

“Dorian…” she said, looking guilty, “I do not deserve that.”

“And why not?” Dorian frowned and placed his drink back on the table. “I thought we were celebrating our victory over the pathetic excuse for an invasion that the Venatori just attempted?” 

“Your mother’s death. The death of civilians…” She let out a heavy sigh. “It’s all _my_ fault.”

“And just how is it _your_ fault?”

“I thought I was capable of running Skyhold in the Inquisitor’s absence, that I had the authority and respect here, but I was delusional. I let Venatori walk freely in our halls and I didn’t even know it!”

“They were dressed like Tevinter guards, and it makes sense that a member of the Pavus family would be dramatic enough to order an army of guards to watch over them, even in one of the safest places in Thedas!”

“Dorian, I had no idea your mother was being held against her will. She’s dead now, and her blood is on my hands! Don’t you see?”

“Cassandra, I ran away from my mother with a spy I thought was my boyfriend and didn’t tell anyone where I was going. I almost got Cullen and Merrill killed trying to find me, and my _politics_ got my mother’s throat cut, not you. This is on me.” Dorian took a deep drink of his cider.

“But you’ve been doing such good things in Tevinter! Changing the way people view slavery, insisting that nobles should act on behalf of the people, that bloodlines don’t matter. Whether she ever said it or not, your mother should be proud of all you’ve accomplished.”

“She was, you know,” he said, smiling ruefully at the thought of Aquinea being proud of him. It was an almost laughable situation, if it weren’t so fucking tragic, to know that it took both his parents facing death to truly appreciate him for the man he was. 

“It’s not your fault, Dorian,” Cassandra said softly.

“It’s not yours either then.” He held his bottle up again. Cassandra finally tapped her bottle against his, and they both took a drink.

She took a good look at Dorian, who looked tired and defeated, and with a wry grin, told him, “You know, I received a few letters from Cullen, checking in on Pup, while you all were away...”

“You don’t say!” Dorian said, perking up a bit.

Cassandra reached into the top drawer of her desk, taking out a small stack of envelopes all addressed to ‘Pup Rutherford-Trevelyan.’

“Well, I think we’ve found the perfect gift for Sera,” Dorian chuckled, as he began to read over Cullen’s letters to his dog. When Bull came to fetch him, right on time, all three of them finished the stack together and had a good laugh before heading to bed.

…

“Give me your hands,” Anders demanded in his Healer voice, grabbing hold of Alarion’s hands and sending magical warmth and healing energy flooding through his entire body. “I’m sorry about the cold…how are your feet?”

“They’re fine,” Alarion smiled gratefully as he squeezed Anders’ hands tighter than was probably necessary for the magic to flow between them. Not that Anders seemed to mind.

“It’ll be warmer and dryer down in the tunnels, I hope. Until then, I’m afraid this will have to do.”

“So…” Alarion beamed up at him.

“So?”

“Where are we headed?”

“Once we get far enough away from Skyhold, you are free to go wherever you’d like.”

“Thanks to you. And your friends.”

“Well, we also are the ones who found you and got you arrested. So we’re even, I guess?”

“I don’t blame anyone but myself for that.”

“I don’t recommend following that line of thinking. It _seems_ quite noble at first, but then you spend five years alone in a cave, stop eating, grow a beard…”

“I don’t believe I _could_ grow a beard!”

“Oh, then you should be fine.” Anders smirked, his eyes twinkling.

“You trimmed yours, I see…”

Anders let go of one of Alarion’s hands to reach up and scratch self-consciously at his jaw. “Yeah…Hawke made me.”

“It looks nice!” Alarion smiled. “ _And_ I like your fancy new robe…” He reached his free hand up to touch the velvet peeking out from under the rough wool cloak he was wearing and ran his finger along the gold trim around his collar.

“Is it too much?” Anders asked nervously, the bossy clinical confidence he had a few moments earlier almost completely gone now that the attention was on him. “I tried to pick something modest, but Hawke insisted on the gold accents for just a little bit of contrast. Before the rebellion, the shops didn’t really stock a lot of robes, because they didn’t want to be seen as catering to apostates, so it was a totally new and overwhelming experience to walk in and have such a selection to choose from. I actually used to have to make my own clothes if I wanted anything other than a hand-me-down Circle robe or whatever Hawke could dig out of the bottom of an old barrel. When Justice and I merged, I sort of stopped caring as much about fashion…” he trailed off, noticing the amusement creeping across Alarion’s face. “What?”

“Nothing…it just…suits you. Quite well, actually.”

“Thank you.” Anders blushed, and Alarion felt a fresh wave of warming magic ebbing into him from the hand he had forgotten he was still holding.

“You talk a lot when you’re nervous…” Alarion mused. “You would make a terrible spy.”

“Yes. I suppose I would.”

“I think it’s one of my favorite things about you.”

“Is it…?” Anders couldn’t tell if Alarion was teasing him or not. All he knew was that the way he looked at him made it difficult to concentrate. He pulled his hand away reluctantly and smiled sheepishly at the ground where the snow had melted in a nearly perfect circle around them.

Alarion cleared his throat. “So where do _you_ think we should go?”

"Oh, I don't…” Anders looked up at him suddenly. “I mean, you shouldn’t feel like you have to include me in your future plans.”

Alarion reached up and shoved a strand of hair out of his face. “I don’t.”

Anders swallowed, fighting against a sudden desire to gather Alarion up in his arms and bury himself against his neck. Over the years, he had forgotten how much he craved physical affection. The tiniest brush of Alarion’s fingertips across his face had suddenly reminded him.

But he needed to focus. On getting them somewhere safe. “Well, then, I suppose we could head into the Deep Roads and try to find the Hero of Ferelden. She’s an old friend of mine.”

…

After a couple of days to rest and recover from the trauma of the past month, Dorian was desperate to improve the solemn mood and pressured Josephine into inviting everyone out for drinks and Wicked Grace at the Herald’s Rest. Cabot actually seemed happy to see them all there together for a change, and rushed to fill their drinks himself, until he realized how quickly they were emptying, then passed off the responsibilities to his barmaids, taking his preferred place grumbling behind the bar.

Merrill was seated at the head of the long table, as an “honored guest,” with Dorian and Bull on either side of her. Merrill was explaining something animatedly while Bull and Dorian followed along, hanging on her every word. Josephine and Evelyn, who, after two drinks, insisted that they be allowed to sit together in spite of their history of cheating together, watched them curiously, wondering what they were talking about.

“They’re plotting,” Evelyn said, taking a gulp of her ale, and wiping the foam off her face with her sleeve. “Up to no good...probably going to head down to the dungeons and free the _rest_ of our prisoners.” She grinned. 

She had actually harbored very little ill will toward Merrill, or Dorian, for their involvement in Alarion’s escape. Now that Dorian was safe, she wasn’t nearly as concerned about the Agents of Fen’Harel. She had taken Cullen’s concerns about becoming less personally responsible for saving the world to heart, and decided that if there was to be some kind of elven uprising, it would be someone else’s job to figure out what to do about it. There still remained the mystery of Fiona’s and Solas’ disappearances, but she had convinced herself that it was probably just a coincidence...for now.

“Who cares about them?” Josephine said, holding tightly onto Evelyn’s arm and smiling. “WE should plot!”

“Yes, yes! We should plot to win Wicked Grace. You know one time we got Cullen naked?!”

“I was THERE!” Josephine shouted. “I won that game, too!”

“It won’t be happening again because I won’t be losing!” Cullen interjected, leaning conspiratorially between the two women.

They burst into laughter, knowing full well that Cullen was probably going to lose again. 

“I’m serious!” he protested. “I’ll even conspire _with_ you two if it can spare me from a naked run around the courtyard.”

Dorian, Merrill, and Bull hadn’t noticed the commotion down at the other end of the table as the Inquisitor and two of her Advisors began plotting against them. They were too busy planning what they were going to do after Sera and Dagna’s wedding, the details of which still remained a bit of a mystery as Sera had yet to return to Skyhold. Since Dagna did not seem the least bit concerned, most of the other residents of Skyhold tried not mind, either.

But in the meantime, Bull and Dorian both had really grown to appreciate Merrill and all her odd little ways, and the three of them were planning to travel together for a bit, allowing Merrill to show them where she spent her formative years after being sent to live with the Sabrae clan, in the Brecilian Forest, before the Blight drove them across the Waking Sea. Her total lack of any judgment over their relationship meant everything to them, as well. Not that anyone they cared about had ever expressed anything but support for them, but she hadn’t even blinked an eye at the idea that a Tevinter Magister and a Qunari mercenary could be perfectly compatible.

“I think I might want to go back to Kirkwall again…” Dorian admitted, to Bull’s surprise. 

He raised a skeptical eyebrow at him.

“What? It was really quaint and charming…”

“Yes! Kirkwall _is_ so much fun, isn’t it?!” Merrill chimed in excitedly.

“‘Quaint,’ ‘charming,’ and ‘fun’ are not words _I_ would ever use to describe the City of Chains…” Bull said, giving them both a fond but disapproving look. “Besides, we could get into a lot of trouble there.” 

“I’ve _already_ gotten into a lot of trouble there,” Dorian reminded him.

“Oh! Me too!” Merrill exclaimed.

“That is true...” Bull conceded.

“It’s really lovely once you get to know your way around. It took me a few years, and a few balls of twine, but I rarely get lost anymore! And I know where all the best gardens are for picking flowers and herbs! And where to sit and watch the sunset where the sewer smell is the least distracting!”

“Josephine was telling me about a _delightful_ little estate up for auction! It belonged to a former Magister who abandoned it, I guess...apparently it was a flophouse for squatters for awhile, and now it’s supposedly haunted after some chunk of Andraste ended up in the foyer during the explosion of the Chantry, so it’ll _probably_ go for pretty cheap,” Dorian said excitedly.

“You’ve already bought it, haven’t you?” Bull said, trying his best to sound disappointed in Dorian’s impulsivity, but unable to hide his smirk.

Dorian didn’t respond immediately, but was smiling like a giddy school boy. “Okay! So I put in an offer…a rather generous one, according to Josephine...”

“Well I guess we’re moving to Kirkwall. Not a _terrible_ location for the Chargers to drop in and rest up, to be honest…”

“Oh, this is so exciting! I’m so excited to have new friends in Kirkwall!” Merrill squealed, throwing her arms around their necks.

“You don’t have a house in Kirkwall anymore, Merrill...” Bull said, bringing everyone back to reality.

“Oh. Yes. I suppose I don’t.” She still seemed less bothered by this than one would think she should have been, but her face fell a little at the thought that she wouldn’t be able to call Bull and Dorian her neighbors.

“You _could_ have a house...if you wanted,” Dorian offered, looking at Bull, who nodded with approval.

“What do you mean?” 

“There would be plenty of room for you, with extra space for your potions and flower pressings, if you were interested in living there?” Dorian offered.

“You’d like me to come live with you?!” 

“Of course! I mean, it _is_ my fault you have no house anymore,” he reminded her with an apologetic look.

“Yes, and we have enjoyed your... _mayhem_ ,” Bull added with a grin.

“And you two will need _someone_ to watch out for you in Kirkwall!” 

“Absolutely…” Dorian nodded emphatically.

“Then yes! Yes...I think I would like that very much!”

The three began making plans, as Dorian drew up the layout of the house on a napkin.

...

“You HAVE to be kidding me!” Dorian yelled, slamming his cards down, showing he had only managed to collect two pairs.

“Oh, you poor thing! It’s terribly chilly!” Merrill said with great concern on her face. “Another thing to look forward to in Kirkwall is that it is _much_ warmer. When someone loses Wicked Grace _there_ , it’s usually a relief to have an excuse to get naked!” 

“Get to it!” Evelyn demanded.

“As if this week hasn’t been terrible enough!” Dorian complained, pouting facetiously. He began to strip down, rolling his eyes as everyone cheered him on. He got down to his underwear and grimaced, dropping them to the ground, to be met with gasps and wolf whistles.

“Maker’s breath!” Cullen gasped in earnest.

“There is a LOT of Dorian to take in here,” Evelyn leaned over and whispered to Cullen.

“Excuse me?” Cullen said, feigning offense.

“Yours is still perfectly adequate, Cull,” she whispered back, winking at him. He responded by reaching behind her and grabbing a handful of her left ass cheek, eliciting a yelp that helped to pull some of the attention away from Dorian as he prepared for his run around the courtyard.

“I see why Bull pined over you now!” Josephine giggled, unable to pull her eyes away. She would need to report herself for impropriety as soon as she sobered up.

“I did NOT pine!” Bull said, looking cross.

Dorian ran around the table, then headed towards the door, shoving through it and letting out some expletives as the cold night air hit every inch of his naked body.

Evelyn, Josephine, and Cassandra all attempted to get up and chase after him, partly to make sure he did a FULL lap of the grounds, and partly to keep staring at his ass. They rushed towards the door, all trying to get out at once, Josephine barely able to stand at this point, when they felt someone push back against the door, causing them to lose balance almost instantly and topple over each other.

They laid sprawled out together on the floor, laughing hysterically, not even noticing who was standing at the door.

“What the shite are you arse biscuits doing?!” Sera asked, looking down with a mix of amusement and condemnation.

“Sera!” Evelyn squealed, standing up and trying to steady herself. She threw her arms around the elf and held onto her tightly to keep from falling back down to the floor.

“You’re all wasted, and without me!” she pouted, noticing the compromised state of everyone who was still at the table, as well. “It’s offensive!”

“I’m just so glad you’re back…” Evelyn murmured, clinging to her. “Cullen and I got you the _best_ wedding gifts in Kirkwall…”

Cullen looked horrified as he stood up and cleared his throat loudly, hoping to stop Evelyn from saying anymore, or at least being able to escape before he died of embarrassment, but by now, Dorian had made his way back and shoved through the door, hiding himself from everyone. 

“Nobody look! It’s freezing outside!” he said, as the table erupted with laughter. Merrill jumped up and handed him his clothes while covering her eyes.

“Who is this?” Sera asked, staring at Merrill. “You met a new elf while I was gone?”

“No no,” Evelyn said. “This is Merrill. She was part of Hawke’s crew in Kirkwall, but Dorian and Bull have adopted her since we blew up her house!”

“I guess that’s why you all haven’t RSVPed to MY WEDDING, then?! Too busy chasing after precious DOOOOOORIANNN…?”

Merrill finally pulled her hands away from her face, checking to make sure Dorian was decent, before turning to greet Sera. “Oh, hello! It’s nice to finally meet you! I’ve heard so much, and I’ve even pressed you some flowers from the gardens here!” she said excitedly. “But you may want to be careful with them because I’m pretty sure they are tainted with red lyrium…” 

Sera stared at Merrill for a few seconds, taking her in. It was an uncomfortable silence, for everyone except Merrill, it seemed.

“Dalish, right?” she said, frowning skeptically.

“Oh yes!” Merrill said, not sensing Sera’s misgivings at all. “Well, not really...um...it’s a bit complicated.”

“You’re not like...an ‘ _elfy_ ’ elf, though, are you?”

“Oh no! I mean...I don’t _think_ so…though I’m not sure I understand what you’re asking?”

“Good, good, then, yeah?” Sera waved her hand dismissively. “The last elf we had here was wicked shit. Always banging on about history and the Fade and other elfy magical rubbish, but _you_...you’re at least cute,” Sera said, nodding her approval at Merrill.

“Merrill is a _mage_ , Sera,” Dorian informed her with a mischievous smile. “Quite powerful. Uses her own blood instead of lyrium. Has an Eluvian she restored herself. And often consults with spirits. She and _Cole_ got along quite well.”

“Hmmm…” She eyed her again, but shrugged. “She’s not bald, though, is she? So she seems alright.”

“Where’s Dagna?” Bull asked.

“Hush! I’m not supposed to see her until our wedding!”

“...”

“It’s tomorrow, don’t you know?!”

“Actually…” Cassandra began.

“Did you get the rings?” Sera asked her impatiently.

“Um…”

“You had one job!”

“Nobody informed _me_ of this responsibility…”

“Evie will be officiating, obviously.”

“ _Obviously_ …” Evelyn said, looking around the room with drunken smugness.

“Bull will be our flower girl, won’t you?”

“It will be an honor,” he bowed.

“And Dorian...you don’t mind giving me away, or whatever that nonsense is where you gotta be passed off like baggage? I’d’ve asked _Thom_ , but...”

“I saw him in Kirkwall!” Cullen said. “He was recruiting Wardens for the Hero of Ferelden with Hawke’s brother! He seemed well.”

“AND DID YOU INVITE HIM TO MY WEDDING?!”

“Well, no…”

“I’m happy to be your second choice for a father figure, Sera,” Dorian mused. “Even though I’m not _that_ old.”

“Where is Varric?” she demanded.

“We left him in Kirkwall.”

“That’s fine, yeah. He’ll just have to send me a really great gift to make up for not being here.”

“Josephine…” Sera looked almost threateningly at her.

“I had everything made exactly to your specifications!” she cried triumphantly.

“Finally! The only dependable person in this entire Inquisition!” She slapped Josephine appreciatively on the back, nearly knocking her over, and then looked around the tavern. “Kind of a weak hen night, innit?”

“The night is young!” Bull roared.

“That’s the spirit, flower girl!” Sera smiled wide. “Horns up, right?”

“HORNS UP!”

Dorian rolled his eyes and looked over apologetically at Merrill. “It’s just a _thing_...he does…” he groaned in exaggerated annoyance.

“I think it’s wonderful!” she cried, staring in awe as Bull hoisted Sera up onto his horns and began spinning around the room.

“Yes, I suppose it is, isn’t it?” Dorian murmured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be an epilogue, sort of...short summaries with links to the spin-off WIPs we've been working on because we can't stop writing about these characters!


	15. Epilogue(s)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And they all lived happily ever after...for a time.

After a few weeks of travelling through Ferelden, Merrill was beginning to miss Kirkwall, and Dorian was eager to see what he’d purchased. The estate ended up being better than anyone had anticipated, large enough to easily accommodate all three of them, along with _all_ of the Chargers, should they ever wish to visit (which they did). Merrill quickly befriended all the ghosts and spirits that lingered there, and it became an important waypoint for much of Dorian’s ongoing work with Maevaris and the _Lucerni_ , and allowed them all to easily coordinate with Fenris and Isabela in their continuing efforts to undermine the Tevinter slave trade.

[Anders and Alarion](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20748680/chapters/49299047) found the Hero of Ferelden in the Deep Roads and actually fit in quite nicely with her rogue group of Wardens. Even Carver put aside his differences with the apostate who’d made his sister an accessory to terrorism and welcomed him like the wayward older brother he’d never had nor really ever wanted. Alarion was continually amazed by all the legendary people Anders knew from all his past adventures, including the King of Ferelden and Divine Victoria, all of whom worked within their various capacities to support Solona in her search for a ‘cure’ to the Darkspawn Taint. While Anders could barely be bothered to write to his Kirkwall friends, Solona made sure her cousin and her friends knew that he was healthy... _and_ happy, and even sent him and Alarion on ridiculous errands that got them close enough for a quick visit every now and then.

Though it was significantly delayed by [a number of ill-fated circumstances](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20706413/chapters/49187183), Sera and Dagna’s wedding was an unforgettable experience for everyone in attendance. Varric gifted them advanced reader copies of _All This Shit is Weird_ and asked them to help him write their own fluffy chapter about their relationship. It focused mainly on burnt cookies and red lyrium. Cassandra was terribly jealous.

The ‘Kirkwall Degenerates’ continued their efforts to rebuild Kirkwall into a shining example of a post-Rebellion city, welcoming of both mages _and_ “recovering Templars,” as Hawke called them. Except Mettin. He was never seen in Kirkwall again, and rumors circulated that he had been haunted to madness by a ghost who looked like one of the young mages he’d been especially cruel to when he served in the Gallows. But Varric swore he saw someone who looked an awful lot like him distributing food to those orphaned by the Mage-Templar War on one of his 'diplomatic visits' with the King of Ferelden.

They also worked to improve the living conditions in the slums _outside_ of Kirkwall, even dragging Dorian into the efforts to elevate the residential areas above the Chokedamp that swirled in from the surrounding marshlands, essentially building a ‘floating city’ connected by a series of bridges and platforms that even the ancient elves would’ve been proud of. Well, maybe. Merrill thought it was really neat, anyway.

Aveline and her City Guard successfully defended the city against numerous attacks from Starkhaven and from other surrounding cities who sought to take advantage of the city’s lack of a Viscount (until Hawke nominated Varric), with help from their Inquisition allies, of course. Donnic retired from the City Guard to stay home with their daughter, Leandra, who was the most doted on child in the entire city thanks to her numerous aunts and uncles. She received her first set of daggers on her third birthday from her Aunt Marian “they’re Dwarven so they’re perfect for a toddler” Hawke.

Bethany’s Kirkwall College of Magic and Enchantment became renowned for specializing in the ‘Healing Arts and Sciences.’ She welcomed mages from all schools of magic, and other non-mage experts, even including forward-thinking Chantry sisters, to serve as both teachers and students in one of the most innovative, cross-discipline medical research programs Thedas had ever seen. After receiving an anonymous donation to expand the program and build a state-of-the-art free clinic where the healers could work and learn through firsthand experience, she decided to locate it in Darktown, naming it “The Kirkwall Center for Medical _Justice_ ,” with a nod toward _two_ of their most controversial guest lecturers. The feral cats that the clinic displaced were all neutered and allowed to roam the sewers as they pleased, which at least kept the rodent population at bay.

Leliana and Vivienne made a formidable team in Orlais, and Divine Victoria tried not to take it personally when Madame de Fer’s most loyal supporters began referring to her Left Hand as the “Iron Divine,” in contrast to Leliana, whom they referred to derisively as the “Nug Divine,” a title she eagerly reclaimed. They obviously disagreed on a number of issues, but their mutual respect and admiration, even _friendship_ , for one another motivated them to find solutions and compromises that supported mages and strengthened the Chantry’s resolve not to fall back into its old misguided ways and abuses of power.

As promised, Evelyn began making plans for a life with Cullen outside of Skyhold and the Inquisition’s demands. They visited his sister, and he showed her what remained of his childhood home in Honnleath, and she took him home to Ostwick to meet her family. More than two years after the Inquisition’s decisive victory over Corypheus and his ‘hole in the sky,’ a letter on fancy paper, sealed by the Divine herself, came all the way from Orlais, hand-delivered by one of her own personal couriers...

\---

_Inquisitor Trevelyan,_

_The leaders of Ferelden and Orlais have requested that an Exalted Council be held at Halamshiral in order to review the activities and future pursuits of the Inquisition. Your presence, along with whatever representatives you see fit to attend, is requested, as the discussions and decisions made therein will impact you directly._

_Sincerely,_

_Divine Victoria_

\---

A few minutes later, a raven arrived from the west, carrying another note written in Leliana’s chicken scratch on much more ordinary-looking stationery, bearing the Nightingale’s seal:

\---

_Evelyn,_

_By now, you should’ve received my ‘official correspondence’ regarding the Exalted Council. Forgive me if this comes as a surprise. Vivienne and I have done our best to shield you from these petty political matters as long as we could. You have allies all over Thedas, but it seems a few powerful people wish to forget what you’ve done for us all during this time of relative peace. Rumors of mysterious elven agents connected to the Inquisition haven’t helped. I’ve sent word to Josephine, Varric, Dorian, and our other ambassadors scattered about, and I’m assuming Cassandra, Cullen, and the others at Skyhold would also be willing to join you. Please bring as many supporters as you’re comfortable with...the more advocates we have, the better positioned you’ll be to decide for yourself what is to become of the Inquisition._

_Take care, and try not to worry (too much),_

_Leliana_

\---

An addendum, in Vivienne’s elegant handwriting, read: 

_My dear...I know how you feel about the Winter Palace, but I promise the spa is one of the finest in all of Thedas, and you’ll be treated to some much-deserved rest and relaxation once all this unpleasantness has been dealt with. Don’t fret. We’ll get through this._

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Links to some of these spin-offs will be added as we post them to AO3!


End file.
